Message in a Bottle
by Lady Ankaa
Summary: How can two people who hate each other fall in love? Seifer/Quistis. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Spent one lazy Saturday morning watching 'You've Got Mail' with Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks, was irresistibly reminded of S and Q. Then this stupid plot bunny spiraled out of control and became some sort of multi-chaptered plot dragon that now I'm going to have to complete.

Big Disclaimer: I don't own Squaresoft. What you see below you is for fun, not profit. I believe Nora Ephron wrote the screenplay for 'You've Got Mail', which was based on the original screenplay 'The Shop Around the Corner', which in turn was written by Samson Raphaelson, Miklós László, Ben Hecht. I had nothing to do with either film, and none of the ideas contained therein are mine-I am only borrowing the words and concepts of much better writers than I, and will return them when I am done. You'll see flashes of dialogue and scene rip-offs, so let me just say here that those aren't mine, I didn't write the script, and I'm just having fun.

You should watch the movie, and enjoy it (I did!), and I hope you'll enjoy the fic as well.

Anyway, here it is.

_Just a castaway, an island lost at sea, oh  
Another lonely day, with no one here but me, oh  
More loneliness than any man could bear  
Rescue me before I fall into despair, oh_

I'll send an S.O.S. to the world  
I'll send an S.O.S. to the world  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my  
I hope that someone gets my  
Message in a bottle, yeah  
Message in a bottle, yeah

A year has passed since I wrote my note  
But I should have known this right from the start  
Only hope can keep me together  
Love can mend your life but  
Love can break your heart

-Sting (The Police), Message in a Bottle

**Message in a Bottle**

When Quistis first found out that Xu had signed her up for an internet dating service, she wanted to kill her.

After a few minutes, she decided she was being rash. She lived in an institution that rented killers by the hour, after all. She'd hire someone else to do it.

Her pocketbook putting a halt to her grandiose dreams of hired murder, Quistis switched to intimidation. Unfortunately, Xu failed to wilt under the look that had loosened the tongues (and rumor had it, in some, the bowels) of so many of her former students, enemies, and in one particular case, Zell.

"Oh come on, Quistis, what harm could it do?"Xu had laughed, barely glancing up from the computer, which was one of many in the abandoned classroom. "Besides, everyone knows if you don't use it, you lose it, and if you don't use yours soon, the tumbleweeds are going to take over that barren wasteland you call a reproductive system."

"Maybe **I** don't have sex because you have enough for the both of us," mumbled Quistis grouchily, crossing her arms.

Xu didn't take the bait. "That's not possible. I would have to have sex twenty-four hours a day to make up for everything you're NOT getting."

"I had a boyfriend, Tian was-"

"A complete twat, is what he was, and even if he was good enough for you, that was almost a whole year ago, and therefore, it no longer counts." finished Xu.

"I have class next period." She said, desperate.

"No, you don't," replied Xu. "You have a free period, and you know it."

"Xu, I don't need any help finding a date," sulked Quistis, who was rapidly running out of excuses.

"That's also just not true," replied her friend sagely, in that infuriating matter-of-fact tone she had and often used to the fullest extent of her irritating ability. "You DO need help. Professional help, in fact, and what better help than ?"

"I don't need any help in finding some crazy, unwashed psychotic that will stalk my every waking move and raid my underwear drawer," spat Quistis. "I can find my own right here. I HAVE my own right here."

The Trepies unwavering devotion had only (and unfortunately) intensified after the Second Sorceress War, and Quistis daily had to step over a small pile of love letters, rose petals -and once, a creepy doll made with real hair that she did not want to know the origin of- that somehow, every single morning, managed to collect at her door. Only last week, she had almost broken her neck on an overlarge bag of candy hearts.

Xu's small, steady smile did not waver in the slightest at the first wave of Quistis's indignant fury. "You really need to need to learn to relax and get some fun out of life, Trepe."

"Your idea of fun and my idea of fun differ greatly, I'm afraid," said Quistis.

"That's because _your _idea of fun is a night in with The Art of War, a glass of wine, and a pair of AA batteries," replied Xu. "Pathetic." Taking her hands from the keyboard, Xu pantomimed a tumble weed blowing through a desert wasteland, accompanied by a cheesy Western score, an act that Quistis supposed was meant to represent her reproductive organs.

At that moment, it occurred to Quistis how thoroughly Xu would benefit from a black eye.

Just because she liked a quiet night of relaxation more often than not didn't mean she couldn't be an exciting person, damnitall. Didn't she get enough excitement every day with deadly missions, rogue terrorist sects, and friends like Selphie, for Hyne's sake? Why, only yesterday, Selphie had gotten the clever idea to bake a batch of cupcakes with remote detonators inside for an upcoming mission, and Quistis had come into the public kitchen just as Selphie was about to put them in the oven-

"Now come sit here and help me fill out the rest of this profile," replied Xu, patting the seat next to her. "Otherwise you'll have to live with whatever I classify as your 'personal strengths and deepest desires'."

Quistis's first urge was to neutralize Xu in a stranglehold and unplug the computer, but she hesitated. Xu would eventually regain consciousness, find another computer, and simply set about the process of ruining her life once again. Unless she was willing to kill her, she would have to accept the fact that Xu's meddling in her personal life was about to get even more intrusive.

In the end, she relented. Quistis had not been at the top of her second year Battle Tactics class for nothing, and knew to recognize when a battle was lost. Instead of continuing her pointless tirade, she sunk into a seat next to her traitorous friend, folded her arms, and watched her type.

"Hey! What're you two doin?" came a voice from the hallway. The girls looked up to see Irvine's long form slouched against the doorway, giving them a lazy wave.

"Oh, nothing, Xu's just ruining my love life," mumbled Quistis.

"To ruin it, you'd have to have it in the first place," replied Xu gratingly. "Come and help, Kinneas, we're signing up Quisty here for Guardian ."

The cowboy grinned. "Hey, we're helping Quisty's love life? Now that's a cause I can really get behind!"

"You and others, I hope," muttered Xu, causing Quistis to kick her friend's chair.

Sauntering into the classroom, Irvine pulled up a chair, flipped it backwards, and leaned eagerly over Xu's shoulder to see what she had written so far.

"Now, what should her handle be?" asked Xu, considering.

Irvine grinned, draping an arm around Quistis. "How about 'Whiplash?' It works on a couplea levels and hey, there's Zell! Zell, get in here, we're trying to think of a handle for Quisty's new dating profile!"

Great, within minutes, the whole Garden was going to know. "Thanks a bunch, Irvine," she mumbled.

"Hey!" said Zell, walking in and depositing his gym bag. "What're we doin'?"

"What do you think, Quistis?" asked Xu, smiling maliciously. "Any input?"

Groaning, Quistis let her head fall with a heavy 'thunk' onto the computer desk.

"Whatever…" she muttered. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own a thing. 

….

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.

"No."

"YES."

"No."

"YES."

"There is no fucking way in-"

"Better just surrender, man. Once Fu gets an idea in her head-"

"RESISTANCE…FUTILE," finished the young woman, grinning evilly.

"Yeah, what she said," said Rajin, plopping down on Seifer's couch and shoving a handful of pork rinds in his mouth, crunching loudly. Seifer wanted to yell at him that he was getting crumbs all over the fucking place, but realized that any food in the couch might actually improve the smell.

Vagrant, a mutt of indistinguishable origin (both genetically and geographically), was watching Rajin beadily, waiting for a pork rind slip-up or another food disaster that seemed to be common around the overlarge man. Seifer knew that the shaggy grey dog was well aware that once Rajin vacated the couch that he could easily snuff up some of the crumbled treats from between the cushions. The dog was nothing if not patient.

Fujin was sitting on the other end of the sofa with a laptop open in front of her, and Seifer was sprawled out in the only other piece of furniture in the room, a recliner that he'd hauled away from the curb a few weeks ago.

"DISGUSTING." Said Fujin, pointing at said chair with distaste.

"Oh, whatever, it was fine once we got the fucking raccoon out of it," replied Seifer, putting his feet up on the 'coffee table', which was really a bunch of crates piled together with an old tablecloth over it. The raccoon, needless to say, had not been pleased with being evicted, and was extremely unpleasant about it.

"Those rabies shots hurt, ya know," said Rajin, rubbing his stomach at the memory.

"BABY."

Seifer chuckled, and Fujin turned on him. "ALCOHOLIC," she said, pointing at the beer in his hand.

Even Rajin seemed disapproving. "It's only ten in the morning, ya know."

"Yeah, and it's my only day off all week, so I'll do whatever the fuck I want, thanks, Mom. And you-" It was Seifer's turn to point at Fujin from across the room. "Stop trying to change the subject, and stop trying to meddle in my personal life," he said.

"PERSONAL LIFE?" Fujin looked up, fixing her singular glare at Seifer before smirking over at Rajin, who laughed as well.

"What personal life, ya know? All you do is sit around and drink beer, don't clean up after yourself, and when you do have a guest, she never stays for more than a night, ya know."

"FLOOZIES," declared Fujin, resuming her typing.

Seifer rolled his eyes and took another long drink of beer. "Just what the fuck are you signing me up for, anyway?"

Fujin sensed the near-resignation in her friend's voice and smiled, turning the computer around. The screen read: "**: Summon Your True Love Today**!"

"Oh, hell," groaned Seifer. "Is this payback for the time that we got you drunk and made you roller skate in that disco competition, 'cause that was all Raj's idea-"

Although, if he had the opportunity to see Fujin up on stage again, hair disheveled and bra strap looping down one arm as she used the wall to help her along….

"BROKEN COLLARBONE!" snarled Fujin. Seifer concealed a smile…barely.

"Don't drag me into this, man," protested Rajin, shoving another handful of pork rinds into his mouth. "I'm fill bwying ba dig mah way outta the doghouse fow ba birfday disafor-"

"WRONG DAY!"

"But Fuj, I-"

"WRONG YEAR," seethed Fujin, fixing the young man with such a look of fury that it made him shrink back against the imitation dragon leather, feebly shoving another handful of pork rinds into his mouth. Vagrant wagged his tail hopefully.

Seifer rolled his eyes, took another beer out the case and cracked it open against the side of the table. He didn't bother to retrieve the bottle cap from the floor: it wasn't as if he had any guests other than Rajin or Fujin, and as Fujin said, the occasional floozy. The beach house was tiny- it had a single bedroom, one bathroom, and a combination kitchen/dining room/living room. Seifer hadn't chosen it for the size, anyway, he'd chosen it for the location.

Fujin had resumed typing, and Seifer was afraid to ask what.

"HANDLE?"

"No."

"HANDLE?"

"Fujin, fuck off."

"HANDLE?" demanded the young woman. Her eye was beginning to twitch, a sure sign of impending violence.

"How about 'ElevenInchCock'?" he replied snidely.

Rajin laughed. "That's a good one, ya know." He paused. "Wait, ya know, do you actually have-"

"What the fuck are you going to put under the 'about me' section, anyway?" continued Seifer, ignoring him. "Ex-revolutionary seeks woman not possessed by ancient freak entity to share long walks on the beach, social isolation, cheap beer?"

Fujin glared at him.

"Look, I don't need anyone, and I don't want anyone, either. Just leave it alone."

Fujin's single eye was narrowing further, and he knew she wasn't about to let go without a fight, and Fujin was downright tenacious when she wanted to be (which was damned near all of the time). Truth be told, he was too tired to put up much of a fight right now, especially over something as asinine as an online dating site.

"HANDLE?"

"Oh, hell, write whatever you want," he muttered, draining the rest of his beer. "Fuck it." Getting to his feet, he walked outside, the screen door slamming shut behind him. Vagrant cocked his head at the door, whining.

Both friends exchanged looks before shrugging.

"How about DeepSeaDiver?" asked Rajin, after awhile. "It operates on several different levels, ya know, and-"

Fujin sighed.

IDIOTS.


	3. Chapter 3

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"Quisty?" The sweet, tentative voice was muffled by the steel door between the room and the dormitory hallway. "Quisty, are you in there?"

…

…

…

"Quistis? Quistis! If you're in there, damnit, open up, _now_!"

**_Go away._**

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"Quisty…it's me…._please_ open up!"

**Please…._please_ just go away.**

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…

"Quistis, you can't stay in there forever…you've still got to finish the mission debriefing, and… Rinoa….everyone else is worried about you."

**_I can…I want to stay in here forever. _**

…

…

…

"Quisty, Selph's looking all over for you…I'll just…I'll be in my room if you wanna to talk, okay?"

**_I don't want to talk about it…I just want it to go away. I want to wake up, and I want this all to have been a dream._**

…

…

…

Someone was knocking on the door again, their knuckles a heavy rap against the steel. "Quistis, are you in there?"

A shuffle, then another voice. "You think she's in there?"

"Where else could she _be_?"

"Dunno, but…the lights aren't on."

"Did you try her classroom?"

"Yeah. She wasn't there."

"Well…let's look there again. Maybe she doubled back."

…

…

…

The phone rang.

And rang.

And _rang_.

"Quistis, this is Cid. Take what time you need, but within the next three days, you'll need to come down to my office to debrief and sign the incident reports."

Alone in her room, Quistis did not answer, but rolled over and stared into nothing.

She did not sleep.

…

….


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Nope, didn't write 'You've Got Mail', don't own Squaresoft. Yet.

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Seifer stumbled into the house and deposited his jacket and rucksack in a wet pile at the door, giving the dog a quick pat on the head as the excited animal tried to lick every available inch of him. It had been raining for three days straight, and getting the ship back into the harbor and the catch unloaded had been a wet and slippery mess. Sore and exhausted, he wanted nothing more than to have a hot shower and collapse into his bed, but he'd made plans with Rajin and Fujin to go out.

Standing over the doormat, he peeled off the rest of his wet clothes, adding to the sopping heap at his feet. He glanced at Vagrant's food and water bowl, and was glad to see that Rajin had been true to his word and was stopping by throughout the day to feed, water, and walk him. Rajin was nothing if not dependable.

Having shed the sopping clothing Seifer walked naked and still dripping wet to his bedroom, where he pulled on a dry pair of boxers and ran a hand towel through his hair. Yawning, he plodded back into the kitchen with the towel slung around his shoulders and ate the rest of the leftover pizza he and Rajin had ordered three nights ago, making a face at the way the cheese had crusted into something resembling a salty piece of plastic. It was barely edible but he was too lazy to cook anything, so he grimaced and chased bites down with a beer. After his third slice of cardboard pizza, he unceremoniously dropped the box on the floor and let Vagrant take care of the rest.

He did this all while pointedly ignoring the laptop on the living room table.

The laptop itself had been a birthday present from Rajin and Fujin, and it was a really great gift if one didn't take into account the significant meddling factor behind it.

Seifer had figured out the gift to be an attempt on Fujin's part to get him to socialize with the outside world (and specifically the opposite sex ) when his friend had snatched the brand-new machine from him the minute he opened it and began setting up an account on the well-known dating site. Rajin had simply shrugged and offered him a sympathetic smile- since Rajin and Fujin had officially started dating Seifer had been forced to write Rajin off as an ally and had declared him the most pussy-whipped bastard in Balamb. Rajin had replied that it was simply easier to allow Fujin to have her way now, rather than later, as Fujin having her way was an inevitable constant of the universe.

It was true, but in Seifer's mind that didn't make Rajin any less of a pansy.

At the moment, Fujin was determined that he find a companion that was 'WORTHY', and not one of the 'HUSSY PARADE' she accused him of leading through his bedroom. Seifer was at a loss to explain to Fujin, (and Rajin was no help whatsoever), that he was pretty sure that it worked out well enough for everyone involved. Besides, he no longer paraded them through _his_ bedroom: Seifer had learned the hard way that you had to go back to _their_ place, as it was hell on wheels to get rid of them in the morning without the mess of hurt feelings and annoying but inevitable clinging. He did not share this revelation with Fujin, as he assumed correctly that his very…tactical approach to getting laid would not be well-received.

So far, he had been using the computer for porn and sports scores, and knew that Fujin, who now worked in the Garden's Tech Services branch as a part of their non-combat security taskforce, was sure to check his history and give him holy hell if he hadn't visited the site at all over the past two weeks, because

1) she was nosey as hell, damned good at hacking, and

2) for some unknowable reason, thoroughly invested in getting him a girlfriend. And although Fujin was kind of cute when she was angry, unlike Rajin, her punches actually hurt.

Seifer hooked a beer bottleneck between his fingers and stood in the middle of the kitchen, yawning. Vagrant thumped his tail on the hard linoleum, panting as he looked up at him. Seifer swore the dog's tail never stopped wagging, not even in his sleep. Leaning over, he patted the dog before continuing into the living room, which, as convenience would have it, was only about half a foot away from the kitchen.

It was out of resignation that Seifer finally walked over to his computer and flipped it on. Within minutes, his mail client had loaded, and sure enough, there was an e-mail welcoming him to , along with fifty other pieces of spam. Cursing, he opened it, then, with dread in his heart, launched the atrocious site.

*~*~ Welcome, Fisher_King! We have summoned 26 matches for you based on the deepest level of compatibility! ~*~*

_Oh, hell. _

Seifer frowned. _Wait…Fisher_King? Where the fuck had Fujin plucked THAT one out of?_

Rolling his eyes, he scrolled down to the matches: the first picture featured a pretty brunette.

Match 1: Crazygurl

_"I like to party! Do you?"_

Age: 18-

Seifer quickly scrolled down. 18 years old and with Crazy as part of the handle? There was no way in hell he was opening that can of worms, not even if she was practically a sure thing.

This girl was also a brunette, and she had a nice smile.

Match 2: Firefly23

_"Thrill seeker looking for same."_

Age: 23

Occupation: Law Enforcement (Balamb Garden SeeD Program Enlistee)

Seifer scrolled down. Ahahaa. _Hell_ no.

The next picture featured a picture of someone's back, staring out at the ocean.

Match 3: RedRose05

_"Looking for my prince charming!"_

Age: 25

Occupation: Business Owner

Location: Timber

Likes: scrapbooking, my eight kitty-cats, long walks on the beach and candlelit dinners-

Rolling his eyes, Seifer got up and got another beer.

The next one was a blonde who had a haughty smile full of very white teeth and a rack that took up most of the photo.

Match 4: AquilaBird

_"Aquila Non Capit Muscas"_

_"The eagle catches not flies?"_

Age: 25

Occupation: Service Industry

Location: Esthar

Likes: Dining out, shopping, movies, theater

Music: Phantasm, Lady Moomba, The Backwards Hats

Dislikes: Cheapskates

Looking for:-

Seifer didn't bother to finish reading. If that wasn't a stripper looking for a permanent sugar daddy, he'd be damned. Why the fuck was he doing this, anyway?

He _had_ a system, and it worked out for everyone involved: Go on dry spell. Go out and get smashed, meet someone equally smashed, go back to her place, leave before she woke up. Repeat dry spell.

Sometimes they recognized him, sometimes they didn't, and it didn't matter one way or the other because it only lasted for a night anyway.

So, why was he doing this?

Oh right. Because his friends were fucking meddlesome. That was why.

A redhead next with a shy smile, her cheeks dotted with freckles and holding a beach ball.

Match 5: Raliegh09

"R U the 1?"

Age: 19

Occupation: Student

Location: Balamb, baby!

Likes: I luv the band Lady Moomba, and dancing, and hanging out with my peeps! U shuld def be into dancing and going out, like animals and kids, and-

-fuck no.

Seifer checked the clock. Rajin and Fujin would be here in an hour, and he needed to shower before they went out, as he didn't think either one would appreciate him smelling like a human-sized bucket of chum. Taking a gulp of his beer, he was about to close the laptop when his gaze snagged on one of the last matches:

LadyShallot (no picture available)

"Are you my knight in shining armor?"

Age: 23

Occupation: Customer Service

Location: Undisclosed

Likes: Theater, Professional Zionball (Balamb Blood Souls), red wine, Moomba Scout cookies, jigsaw puzzles, skiing, reading, and working out

"Jigsaws and red wine? Hello old fat chick with twenty cats," he muttered, but kept reading anyway.

Music: Classical, Jazz, and Heavy Metal (Shiva Sisters)

Dislikes: Arrogance, emotional stoics, banana-flavored anything

Deep dark secret: I'm a huge fan of horror films (the cheesier the better) and I like my popcorn with extra butter

Looking for: I'll know it when I find it.

Additional Information About Me:  
You stand at a fork in the road. Next to each of the two forks, there stands a guard. You know the following things:

1. One path leads to Paradise, the other to Death. From where you stand, you cannot distinguish between the two paths. Worse, once you start down a path, you cannot turn back.

2. One of the two guards always tells the truth. The other guard always lies.

You have permission to ask one guard one question to ascertain which path leads to Paradise. What one question asked of one guard guarantees that you are led onto the path to Paradise, regardless of which guard you happen to ask?

If you can answer this correctly, we might have something to talk about!

_A riddle? Puzzles? Red wine? This chick was definitely somebody's 80 year old sexually-repressed aunt. Still, he found himself thinking about the riddle….couldn't ask if the other one lied, they'd both say yes…couldn't ask which was the right door, because you'd get two different answers again…_

LadyShallot is now online.

_Speak of the devil._

Seifer raised an eyebrow. Hell, why not? He clicked on the chat icon in the corner. Now, when Fujin checked up on his activities and saw that he had actually chatted with a member of the damned lonely hearts club, she'd hopefully leave him the hell alone for at least a week before deciding to sign him up for a mail-order bride.

Plus, if he was honest, he had absolutely nothing better to do.

ENTERING CHAT MODE. PLEASE WAIT A MOMENT.

_Fisher_King has entered the chat._

Fisher_King: The answer's easy- you count on the lie. You ask each guard what the _other_ guard would say is the correct path- then choose the opposite. Both of them'll give you the wrong door.

Silence.

Fisher_King: Hello?

_Was she even online?  
_  
_Lady_Shallot has joined the chat__._

Lady_Shallot: Hi. Yes. You're right. How did you figure it out?

_So, she was there. Seifer tried to imagine a little old lady hunched over a keyboard, pecking at each key as her twenty-seven cats looked on, judging her._

Fisher_King: Elementary, my dear Watson.

Lady_Shallot: I'm impressed, at any rate. Wait, did you moogle the answer?

Fisher_King: Nope. Thought of it all by myself.

Fisher_King: So, what other trials have you set up for an internet dating sight? Eating cactuars? Battling a Ruby Dragon? Some sort of obstacle course involving throwing knives and lava pits?

Lady_Shallot: Very funny. To tell you the truth, I thought the riddle would dissuade most people.

Fisher_King: …you're on a dating site and you want to _discourage_ people from contacting you?

Lady_Shallot: Well, if a person can't answer a simple riddle, we'd just be wasting both our time.

Fisher_King: Meaning that you're a rocket scientist in your leisure time, so you need a massive brain to match yours?

Lady_Shallot: Meaning, I like men with some measure of brains because I'm tired of pretending to not have any just to put them at ease.

Lady_Shallot: After all, the whole point of a relationship is have someone like you for you are, isn't it?

Fisher_King: I thought the whole point of a relationship was to shackle someone to your side with mediocre jewelry and then let yourself go completely.

Lady_Shallot: Let me guess…you're comedian in _your_ spare time?

Fisher_King: Alas, it's only a hobby at present. Besides, who says the truth can't be funny?

Lady_Shallot: You prefer honesty over flattery, then?

Fisher_King: …do the two need to be mutually exclusive?

Lady_Shallot: Sometimes they are.

Fisher_King: In that case, I prefer honesty…but people'll take flattery every time.

Lady_Shallot: And why is that, do you think?

Fisher_King: Because most people out there know the truth already-that they're fat or stupid or economically worthless- but they'd rather be lied to. Let's be honest, if you have to ask if you're ugly, you're probably ugly. It's like those two guards in that riddle of yours- you could ask either one if you're fat, but you wouldn't be satisfied with either answer. If you tell a woman she's fat, you're dead. If you tell a woman she's skinny, you're only saying she's skinny so she won't think that she's fat, which makes you an even bigger bastard for not telling her the truth…so really you're completely screwed either way. But with the 'not fat' answer, you're less likely to spend the night on the couch.

Lady_Shallot: You've given this a fair amount of thought. And by 'fair' amount, I mean a creepy amount.

Fisher_King: My point: People would rather hear the lie, even if they know it for what it is.

Lady_Shallot: Even then?

Fisher_King: Lies are always well-received…if they're compliments.

Lady_Shallot: So, what, all compliments are lies?

Fisher_King: Pretty much. You wouldn't tell a super model she's pretty, would you? Of course not. Because she knows it. It's obvious. But throw a flower and a summer dress on your fattest cow of a friend, and you feel the need to tell her she looks great. Compliments are just lies with good intentions behind them.

Lady_Shallot: Maybe your friend actually looks good.

Fisher_King: She doesn't. You know it, I know it, and the Dress Silo that she picked up the over-sized plane parachute at knows it. You only want to believe she looks pretty because you think it makes _you_ a better person.

Lady_Shallot: …I don't quite follow that logic.

Fisher_King: That's because you probably try to be a nice person…you don't think about the inherently selfish reasons behind all the 'nice' things you do.

Lady_Shallot: You've never given someone a compliment, then?

Fisher_King: No. I tell them the truth. And if the truth happens to be flattering, well, that's icing. I've got no patience for people who thrive on false flattery.

Lady_Shallot: You're just playing around with _semantics_- it's the same thing!

Fisher_King: I like to think of it as the difference between integrity and being a kiss-ass.

Lady_Shallot: Had a lot of girlfriends, then?

Fisher_King: We'll say a fair few.

Lady_Shallot: And all of them were fine with your 'tell it like it is' strategy?

Fisher_King: I usually make it a point to date attractive women- saves me the trouble of lying.

Lady_Shallot: Talk about disillusionment! What you really mean is that you're _shallow_!

Fisher_King: Please. You can't honestly say you're looking for a three hundred pound Sasquatch that lives in his parent's basement, can you?

Lady_Shallot: There's a huge difference between someone's appearance being part and parcel of their attractiveness, and dating someone on the sole basis of their looks, just as there's a difference between telling someone the truth and being cruel. You can't use 'the truth' as an excuse for being rude, just as you can't use 'honesty' as a cover for vanity.

Fisher_King: The truth has its merits.

Fisher_King: Let me tell you three _true_ things about yourself, based on your profile.

Lady_Shallot: Oh boy. I can't _wait_ to hear them.

Fisher_King: One, you don't have a picture, so that means you're either a) hot, and don't want to be contacted by shallow assholes just by merit of your looks or b) you're insanely ugly and you don't want to scare anyone off. I personally think it's probably a.

Lady_Shallot: wait…was that a _compliment_?

Fisher_King: although it could be b, because a lot of really fat chicks have to develop a personality to get any kind of attention, and you seem to have at least a little personality.

Lady_Shallot: …nevermind.

Fisher_King: 2)Despite your riddle, you sometimes wish you weren't as smart as you are, because being smart ruins a lot of things, and 3) You don't like jigsaw puzzles, because no one in their right mind likes jigsaw puzzles. They're the most frustrating, unfulfilling use of delayed gratification I've ever seen. You just put that down because you're trying to like them, and you're failing miserably.

Lady_Shallot: Hmmm…right on two, at least.

Fisher_King: Which two?

Lady_Shallot: Shouldn't you know already, oh Master of Truth?

Fisher_King: …it's the hot one and the smart one, isn't it?

Lady_Shallot: Ha! How do you know I'm not a three hundred pound sasquatch?

Fisher_King: Because you claim to enjoy skiing- you'd have buried yourself in an avalanche by now if you were a fat ass.

Lady_Shallot: Very eloquent, was that another…?

Fisher_King: We've been through this. No compliments.

Lady_Shallot: Oh, good. I was having trouble discerning flattery from thinly-veiled insults.

Fisher_King: You know, I'll bet you're a terrible liar in real life.

Lady Shallot: And I suppose you're quite good?

Fisher_King: I'd be great….IF I bothered to lie.

Lady_Shallot: Shame. Such a waste of a perfectly gilded tongue.

Fisher_King: Yes, a true tragedy.

Lady_Shallot: Since this medium of communication doesn't afford the advantage of tone or expression, I was being sarcastic, by the way.

Fisher_King: I never would have guessed. So, let me get this straight about the riddle before- you're on a dating site and you want to discourage people from contacting you?

Lady_Shallot: Not working, is it?

Fisher_King: Hm. Guess not.

Lady_Shallot: My friends signed me up for this site, actually; it wasn't my idea.

Fisher_King: Pfffft.

Fisher_King: Everybody says that, as a way of looking less pathetically lonely and pitifully desperate.

Lady_Shallot: So I suppose you're just _genuinely_ pathetically lonely and pitifully desperate?

FK: Nah. Friends signed me up.

Lady_Shallot: Right.

Lady_Shallot: Let me ask you a question: why'd you answer the riddle, anyway?

Fisher_King: I like a challenge.

Lady_Shallot: Even if you resent someone setting you a trial?

Fisher_King: _Especially_ if I resent the trial.

Lady_Shallot: Interesting.

Lady_Shallot: Another question: despite your fondness of the truth, have you ever wanted anyone to lie to you?

Fisher_King: No.

Lady_Shallot: Not _ever_?

Fisher_King: No. You always learn the truth, in the end, or you know it from the beginning.

Fisher_King: You?

Lady_Shallot: Once.

Fisher_King: When?

Lady_Shallot: I've got to go. It was…interesting talking with you, Fisher King- and that's the truth, not a compliment.

Lady Shallot has just signed out.

Seifer sat back in his chair, staring at the empty chatbox. "Huh."

_Well, that was interesting._


	5. Chapter 5

Quistis walked down the empty hallway, a sheath of papers clutched to her chest. Signatures on her medical forms. Signatures on her deposition. Her cursive looped at the bottom of every page- her name on every line, signed with steady precision. Her steps were as slow and deliberate as her signatures had been, and while she knew she was trying to prolong the inevitable, it didn't stop her feet from dragging.

She had waited for the next class to start, so that hallway traffic would be minimal. However, that didn't stop her from running into several of her colleagues, including Instructor Green, who clapped a hand on her shoulder and gave her that same understanding smile she was so thoroughly sick of seeing on everyone else's face.

_"Quistis, the headmaster has summoned you to his office."_

_"But the deposition, it wasn't due until-"_

**Can't hide in your room forever.**

_"I'm afraid it can't wait. He wants to see you now."_

**You knew that it was coming.**

_"I…I understand. I'll be right there."_

Before she knew it, she had stopped in front of the door.

**Have to face it…have to face _them_.**

"Go on in, Miss Trepe. The Headmaster is expecting you." Maria, Cid's new secretary, smiled at Quistis from her desk near the doorway.

Quistis blinked at her, as if coming awake.

"Thank you Maria." The doors slid open, and she had to force herself to walk through them, aware of Maria's eyes on her.

_Step by step. Forward. _

It was how she measured out each day now, step by step, breath by breath.

"You asked to see me, Headmaster?"

Cid turned from the window, his hands still folded behind his back. "Ah, yes, Quistis, please have a seat."

She hesitated. "If it's all right, Headmaster, I'll stand."

The older man nodded. "Of course. As you are, then." The headmaster walked to his desk and took a seat, picking up folder. Quistis noted the extra grey in his temples as he bent over the document, and the strain around his eyes. When had he gotten so old?

"Dr. Kadowaki reports that your physical status is sufficient for Class B and C combat missions now."

"Yes."

"You have decided to maintain your junction to Guardian Force Shiva during this time?"

"I have."

"I understand that this is contrary to the doctor's advice."

"It is."

Cid set down the paperwork, and for a moment he looked less like a Headmaster and more like the man who used to carry her on his shoulders and bring home bags filled to bursting of saltwater taffy, doling them out carefully and fairly into open hands.

She cringed away from the memory, which was lined with the still-searing blister of grief.

"How are you feeling, Quistis?"Cid leaned over his desk, his expression soft and solemn. For an instant, he was the man who gave the girls piggy-back rides on his shoulders, the man who came through the door with his pockets brimming with candy and card tricks, that taught them how to build sandcastles and moats with working drawbridges…and she wanted to tell him everything.

"I…"

**You don't get to cry. Not when it was your fault.**

She folded her hands in her lap. "Fine, sir. I'm fine."

Cid sat back in his chair, something akin to disappointment flashing across his features. It seemed he had expected a different answer.

She couldn't blame him. For a moment, she had thought she would say something else as well.

Cid picked up a new folder. "Dr. Kadowaki also informs me that you feel ready to return to active duty."

"That's also correct," replied Quistis. "Instructors Garwin and Dyssidus have caught me up to speed on the progress of my classes, and I'd like-"

"Both Chian and Isaak will be taking over your classes for the rest of the term."

Quistis frowned. "I'm sorry, Headmaster, but I don't understand-"

"I have a different mission in mind for you, Quistis."

He paused, then gestured to the chair behind her.

"…perhaps you should sit down."

….

….

..

_"Hello, you have reached the dormitory of Quistis Trepe, Instructor 14. I apologize for not being able to answer your call personally, but if you'd be kind enough to leave your name and your request, I'll return your call as soon as I'm able. Thank you."_

**Beep.**

"Quistis, this is Xu. Cut the bullshit. I know you're in there. I'm gonna give you another week, and then I'm going to gas you out of there with one of Tilmitt's latest tear grenades. You know, the ones with bromoacetone and Marlboro sweat glands? Yeah, those. Get your ass out here. You've been warned. Come back to the world of the living, or I'm bringing the world to you."

…..

….

…

..

.

Quistis blinked at her bedside table. Even without the benefit of her glasses (she was farsighted, anyway), she could clearly make out the small green numbers: it was 2:47 am, and she was still wide awake. Those damned over the counter sleeping pills didn't work, and seeing Kadowaki for a more effective remedy for her insomnia would be useless, as the doctor was already angry with her about her continuing junction with Shiva, which she said was unhealthy, given the circumstances.

Sighing, Quistis rolled over in her bed and switched on her laptop, accessing her e-mail. Now, where was it? Ah, yes.

FisherKing (no picture available)

Age: 24

Occupation: Sales and Distribution

Location: Balamb

Likes: fishing, Zionball, women, cooking, kung fu films

Music: Furia Fighters, Starspit, Stagecoach Galaxy 9

Dislikes: Women with control issues.

Deep dark secret: I like fairy tales.

Quistis raised an eyebrow. A man who liked fairy tales? Hmm.

Status:

**Fisher_King is online. Chat?**

**Extend chat invitation to Fisher_King? Y/N**

**Y.**

**Invitation sent._**

**….Fisher_King has accepted your chat request.**

Fisher_King: Hey.

Lady_Shallot: Hey.

Fisher_King: Couldn't stay away, huh?

Lady_Shallot: Something like that.

Lady_Shallot: That, and you're the only one online, and I can't sleep.

Fisher_King: ouch, my ego.

Lady_Shallot: Something tells me it'll pull through. ;)

Lady_Shallot: What are you doing up at this hour?

Fisher_King: Was always a night owl, I guess.

Lady_Shallot: So, kung fu and fairy tails? That's quite a combination.

Fisher_King: I love kung fu films. Kung fu films are like the great equalizer of the world- the hero is almost always some drunk or wanderer or street urchin kid that grows up to be a lightning-fisted, kidney-kicking machine.

Lady_Shallot: And the fairy tales?

Fisher_King: Read too many as a kid. Addled my brain.

Lady_Shallot: I'm in love with B-grade horror films. You can laugh at these without any guilt because you know on some level that there's no way half the people on that set took it seriously.

Fisher_King: Best B-grade horror film?

Lady_Shallot: No question: The Marlboro King.

Fisher_King: Never seen it.

Lady_Shallot: That's a pity- the movie has it all: girl lead with minimal wardrobe, terrible acting, and an overlarge man wobbling around in a rubber Marlboro costume. Poorly, I might add.

Fisher_King: A real classic, huh?

Lady_Shallot: The B-grade horror film all others aspire to.

Lady_Shallot: Best Kung fu film?

Fisher_King: Enter the Ruby Dragon. Hands down.

Lady_Shallot: Hm. Maybe I'll have to rent it.

Fisher_King: How'd you know I like kung fu movies, anyway?

Lady_Shallot: Your profile?

Fisher_King: oh, right…forgot about that thing.

Fisherking: Speaking of profiles, you do realize that the Balamb Blood Souls haven't had a winning season in six years, right?

LadyShallot: Well, at least no one can accuse me of being a fair-weather fan when they take the Silver Chalice next year, then, can they?

Seifer raised an eyebrow at his screen. All chicks pretended to like sports, because they thought that was what men wanted to hear. Then, when pressed, they were forced to admit that they didn't know the first fucking thing about them, which was embarrassing for everyone involved if you actually took them to a game, which Seifer made it a point never to do…at least, not again. Back when he was a cadet he had taken Rinoa to a Kri-ball game, and it had been a complete waste of a ticket and a week's pay.

_So give her a little test, then._

Fisherking: I call wishful thinking on that. Thestius Welks hasn't scored a goal in what, six consecutive games, and the Walice Grimmot's got the worst butter fingers I've ever seen. Only man I've ever seen consistently drop the ball with absolutely no pressure on him from anywhere. I mean, you don't even have to man the poor bastard- just leave him out in left quadrant and watch him let ball after ball slip through his greasy little hands.

LadyShallot: You're thinking of Gotts Medly, not Welks, Medly's got the dry streak on goals. And you forget, they're trading in Melvius Grant for Sieve next season. Too bad about Sieve…he had some promise in the minors, but I think that knee injury permanently threw him off his game.

_So she follows the news_, reasoned Seifer. _Beyond a handful of facts, she could know jack shit._

Fisherking: One half-decent player can't make up for an overwhelming mediocrity. What, he's going to carry their defense AND their offense?

LadyShallot: Grant's an aggressive player, and he's physical- the Blood Souls have the ability, but they've been lacking in physical presence on the field. Welks's good, when he can get and maintain the ball for more than a minute, and Grimmot has pretty decent stats on defense. So does Alice Greamer when she's not out injured. The stats just haven't measured up to their play. If Grant can develop the offense and give the defense some breaks to set up some tactics, I think you'll be surprised.

_Holy shit. She _**did**_ know her sports._

Fisherking: I'd be surprised, all right.

LadyShallot: And what team do you support? Let me guess, the Galbadian Grendels?

Fisherking: The Blood Souls, actually.

LadyShallot: Then why so pessimistic about the upcoming season?

Fisherking: I like to call it 'realistic'.

LadyShallot: Hm.

Fisherking: What?

LadyShallot: Oh, nothing.

Fisherking: _What_?

LadyShallot: lol, it's just that all the pessimists I've ever known always hide under the guise of 'realism'. What's 'realism', anyway, if everything's given to personal subjectivity? Isn't it true beyond a certain base of tactile sensation that we make our own realities?

_A sports fan AND a brain? This had to be some sort of computer bot._

Fisherking: So what's your point?

LadyShallot: So, why construct a reality in which everything you don't want to happen is going to happen, whether or not it actually does?

Fisherking: …

LadyShallot: See? Pessimism.

Fisherking: Ladies and gentlemen, I think we've got a romantic on our hands.

LadyShallot: How do you figure?

Fisherking: Believing the best outcome with no kind of logical proof? Romantic.

LadyShallot: Fine, so I'm a _bit_ of a romantic. And what's wrong with that?

Fisherking: Nothing, if you like being constantly disappointed.

LadyShallot: Who says I'm constantly disappointed?

Fisherking: I can only comment on your future sadness in the results of Balamb Kri-Ball.

LadyShallot: Ha ha. We'll see.

LadyShallot: Besides, anyone with the name 'FisherKing' as a handle has to have at least ONE romantic bone in his body.

Fisherking: Come again?

LadyShallot: Come on, the Fisher King? Aren't you familiar at all with Arthurian legend?

Fisherking: Can't it be that I just like fishing?

LadyShallot: …so you really haven't heard of the character?

Fisherking: Enlighten me.

Lady Shallot: Well, The Fisher King was significant in Arthurian legend as being charged with guarding a most sacred artifact. The king suffered from a grievous wound, and was incapable of moving on his own. When he suffered, his kingdom was said to have suffered as he did, reducing the once beautiful area to a wasteland. Knights were said to travel from across many lands to heal the Fisher King, but only the chosen could accomplish it.

Fisherking: Yeah, that's right. I remember reading about that now.

_So that's where Fujin had gotten it from. Who knew she had a romantic side, in addition to her already flourishing violent side?_

Lady Shallot: Furthermore, it's most frequently said that the Fisher King's wound was in the thigh…or the groin.

Lady_Shallot: Symbolic of something on your end?

Fisherking: Nope. All fine here, since you're so curious. Is that a roundabout way of asking me if I'm some 90-year-old gillionaire with erectile dysfunction?

Lady Shallot: You're a gillionaire, then?

Fisherking: Not hardly.

Fisherking: And the e.d. thing's not a problem, if you were wondering.

Lady Shallot: Good to know.

Lady Shallot: Well, I've got to go. Work.

Fisher_King: At….4:30 in the morning?

Lady_Shallot: What can I say? I'm a busy girl.

_There was her morning run, and then updating Garwin and Dyssidus on the lesson plans for the rest of the term, trying to avoid the inevitable look of pity and half-understanding in their eyes, and then, of course, gathering documents for the Cid's new 'assignment'-_

Fisherking: More customers?

Lady Shallot: Something like that.

Fisherking: So you're talking to me AT work?

Lady Shallot: Really, I'm never _not_ at work.

Fisherking: In that case, maybe you should get a different job.

Lady Shallot: Maybe you're right.

Fisherking: Talk to you later then?

Lady Shallot: I'm…optimistic about the possibility. ;-)

Seifer caught himself smiling as he turned off the computer and shook his head in disgust.


	6. Chapter 6

_"Hello, you have reached the dormitory of Quistis Trepe, Instructor 14. I apologize for not being able to answer your call personally, but if you'd be kind enough to leave your name and your request, I'll return your call as soon as I'm able. Thank you."_

"Quistis, this is Rinoa. Selphie and I are going out shopping today, and we thought maybe you'd like to come with us- go outside, get some fresh air, and oh! We're going to have dinner at The Gilded Oyster, we know that's one of your favorites…Quisty, _please_ come with us, you can't just stay up in your room forever…"

…..

….

…

..

.

Fisher_King: So, for today's burning question, why jigsaw puzzles?

Lady_Shallot: what do you mean 'why?'

Fisher_King: dunno, just seems like an odd hobby for someone under 70.

Lady_Shallot: Har har.

Lady_Shallot: Well, I suppose I like to see things put back together. I used to try that with people.

Fisher_King: Didn't work?

Lady_Shallot: Turns out I was bad at both versions.

Fisher_King: Favorite color?

Lady_Shallot: Seafoam green. What is this, an interrogation?

Fisher_King: Yes

Fisher_King: Night owl or morning person?

Lady_Shallot: That's tough to say, as I've had to get up early every morning for the last ten years.

Fisher_King: Boxers or briefs?

Lady_Shallot: On me? Hmmm…Boxers. Better breathability.

Fisher_King: smartass. Favorite food?

Lady_Shallot: Easy. Balamb's Lonzo's pizzeria, large pizza with extra cheese and mushrooms.

Fisher_King: Dogs or cats

Lady_Shallot: Hm, dogs. More loyalty.

Fisher_King: waffles or pancakes?

Lady_Shallot: I can have both, can't I?

Fisher_King: fair enough.

Lady_Shallot: My turn: boxers or briefs?

Fisher_King: Neither.

Lady_Shallot: ?

Fisher_King: commando.

Lady_Shallot: It doesn't chafe?

Fisher_King: No, for you see, I live in a nudist colony.

Lady_Shallot: There aren't any nudist colonies in Balamb.

Fisher_King: I see you've already checked for yourself.

Lady_Shallot: Very funny.


	7. Chapter 7

_"Hello, you have reached the dormitory of Quistis Trepe, Instructor 14. I apologize for not being able to answer your call personally, but if you'd be kind enough to leave your name and your request, I'll return your call as soon as I'm able. Thank you."_

**Beep.**

"Quistis, it's Squall. I was…uh, Rinoa was wondering if you wanted to go with us into town today. I was...Rinoa thought that…we're worried about you. No one's heard from you in over a week, and Cid's...well. I'm at the desk all day, so you could call. Or not. Whatever. "

…

…..

….

…

..

.

Lady_Shallot: If you could wish on a star, or summon a genie from a lamp, what would you wish for?

Fisher_King: How many wishes do I have?

Lady_Shallot: We'll say an even three.

Fisher_King: That's easy. 3 more wishes.

Lady_Shallot: You can't wish for 3 more wishes. That's cheating. Everyone knows that.

Fisher_King: Lame. Fine. Then I wish for a six pack of beer, and a sandwich, and I'll save the third for a rainy day.

Lady_Shallot: That's it?

Fisher_King: Hell yes that's it. Have you never read fairy tales? Every time some poor bastard trips over a magic lamp, he makes a bunch of elaborate wishes, and they all blow up in his face. What could go wrong with a beer and a sandwich?

Lady_Shallot: Food poisoning?

Fisher_King: Nah. Genies and stars don't twist the mundane- it's punishment enough as it is.

Lady_Shallot: That's…the saddest wish I've ever heard.

Fisher_King: Fine then, what would YOU wish for?

Lady_Shallot: I'm not saying now.

Fisher_King: Oh come on.

Lady_Shallot: No, you've rained all over my fairy tale parade.

Lady_Shallot: Although you do have a point in saying that fairy tales are perhaps a bit….macabre at times.

Fisher_King: No kidding. I mean, really, witches that make candy houses and cook kids in ovens? Cookies that run away from home and drown? Some chick that grew her hair 50 feet long and tossed it out a window to get laid?

Lady_Shallot: And these stories appeal to you why?

Fisher_King: Who knows. Well, I could tell you why some chick alone in a tower appeals to me, but...

Lady_Shallot: I always hated Rapunzel as a story. I never could understand why she didn't cut her hair off at the nape and climb down herself.

Fisher_King: Because she was waiting for Prince Charming of course. Duh.

Lady_Shallot: Come to think of it, why didn't ANY of those princesses take their own situation in hand? Snow White should have outbid the contract the Queen issued the Huntsman and offed her stepmother herself. Cinderella should have poisoned her family- she had daily access to their food, their clothes, their sleeping quarters- she could have inherited the estate and hired servants of her own. And don't even get me started on Sleeping Beauty.

Fisher_King: I think you're missing the point of fairy tales.

Lady_Shallot: Am I? Isn't the point of these stories is to teach little girls that beauty is everything and brains mean nothing, and as long as you wait long enough and believe hard enough, someone else will come along to save you from all your problems?

Fisher_King: You're telling me you never ONCE wanted your life to resemble a fairy tale?

Lady_Shallot: I'm saying nothing works out that way. You can't spend your life looking out windows and waiting for something magical to happen.

Fisher_King: Why not?

Lady_Shallot: Because real life isn't like that. Because people get hurt.

Fisher_King: Because YOU got hurt, maybe?

Lady_Shallot: The point is that hearing about fairy tales and knights of old and fabrications like those as a kid made you think that fantastic things were possible. And then you grew up and you realized that it was all just a bunch of silly nonsense someone scribbled down to put kids to sleep.

Fisher_King: Let me call bullshit on that one. I think you believe things like that ARE possible….just, not for you.

Lady_Shallot: Oh really.

Fisher_King: After all, how can you believe in a team that went 0 and 13 last year and not believe in your own love life?

Fisher_King: …hello?

Lady_Shallot: Goodnight, Fisher_King.

Fisher_King: Goodnight, Lady_Shallot.


	8. Chapter 8

_"Hello, you have reached the dormitory of Quistis Trepe, Instructor 14. I apologize for not being able to answer your call personally, but if you'd be kind enough to leave your name and your request, I'll return your call as soon as I'm able. Thank you."_

**Beep.**

"Quisty, it's Zell. Uh, I was gonna take a car and head over t' Ma's for some home cooking, wondered if you'd wanna come or not. She always makes way too much food for just me , so I thought…but if you're busy…well…I really hope you'll come out with me, Quisty. We're really starting to worry about you…you know? Just…it's Zell, well, you already know that, so just, uh, gimme a call, okay?"

…..

….

…

..

.

Fisher_King: Can't sleep?

Lady_Shallot: Nope.

Fisher_King: Neither can I. Small world, huh?

Lady_Shallot: It's comforting to know that someone else is up with me, at least.

Fisher_King: yeah.

Lady_Shallot: Isn't it funny how you fight sleep as a child, then as you get older, you'd give anything to be able to sleep, and you can't?

Fisher_King: but then, kids don't have the same things to keep them awake, do they?

Lady_Shallot: Not most of them, no.

Fisher_King: So what's got you awake tonight?

Lady_Shallot: Chatting up old ghosts, I suppose. You?

Fisher_King: Same.

Lady_Shallot: What do you on nights like these, when you can't sleep?

Fisher_King: Why, I take you out on an imaginary date, of course.

Lady_Shallot: …come again?

Fisher King: You really need to get out.

Lady Shallot: Oh?

Fisher King: Yeah. Now, normally, I would save for about a week, half-starving myself so that I could take you out to somewhere ridiculously expensive, like the Golden Scallop. This will make you think I have great taste and am rolling in money, which will then obviously make you horny, which then guarantees that I will see at least second base. So what I'm actually doing is investing in getting laid, not being thoughtful, as you are meant to believe. But since on this date we are forgoing the pretense of civility (just as we've abandoned it in our correspondence), what I'm actually going to do is take you out to my favorite bar, because it's cheap, has great wings, and most importantly, has dim lighting, so I can better appreciate your ass...ets without your notice.

Lady_Shallot: Is that all men think about? Sex?

Fisher_King: ….is this one of those trick questions?

Lady_Shallot: *Sigh*

Fisher_King: So, now it's your turn. I've picked the venue and everything.

Lady_Shallot: I see where this is going. Well, normally, for a first date, I would spend an hour standing in front of my closet, wondering what kind of clothing to wear- nothing too forward of course, but nothing that makes me look like a school marm either. But then, I don't want anything that makes me look like I'm trying too hard, but of course I don't want to look like a slob, and this is to say nothing of the indecisive nightmare that will then be make-up or accessories, all before I give up and have one of my girlfriends to do it for me. Because in reality I _hate_ agonizing over first impressions, I'm going to cover my eyes and grab the first thing that my hand touches in my closet.

Fisher_King: Which is?

Lady_Shallot: You're going to make me DO it? Okay, hang on.

Fisher_ King: Please, Hyne, let it be the swimsuit…..

Lady _Shallot: Oh, it's worse.

Fisher_King: What is it?

Lady _Shallot: It's the bridesmaid dress I wore for a friend's wedding.

Fisher _King: And it looks like?

Lady_Shallot: NO.

Fisher_King: And it looks like?

Lady_Shallot: Use your imagination.

Fisher_King: Trust me, you don't want me to use my imagination.

Lady_Shallot: FINE, it's a horrible stupid sequined strapless blue dress.

Fisher_King: There. Was that so hard?

Lady_ Shallot: …..Yes.

Lady_Shallot: What are YOU wearing, then, on this date of ours?

Fisher_King: Well, NORMALLY, I would try to wear something like a dress shirt and pants that have seen an iron, because then you will think I have a good dress sense, which somehow to women translates to an organized mind, which then somehow translates to me getting to take your bra off. But because I was out drinking the night before and am running late due to a massive hangover, I am going to scrape something off the floor that doesn't stink too badly or have food on it.

Lady Shallot: Nice touch, that no food part. I think I may have swooned a little.

Fisher_King: Now, normally I would pick you up, but since I don't want to be stuck driving you home if you're a raging bitch/psychopath/my third grade teacher, I'm going to make you drive yourself.

Lady _Shallot: And normally, while it's not at all difficult for me to be precisely on time, I'm going to make you wait an additional fifteen minutes for no good reason at all.

Fisher King: Oh, good one. To repay you for being late, I'm going to get really drunk while I'm waiting. Like, obnoxiously, sloppy drunk.

Lady_Shallot: And to repay you for being ridiculously drunk, I'm going to order the most expensive thing on the menu. AND a dessert.

Fisher_King: Lotsa luck, the most expensive thing at the Glass Nickel is about twenty gil.

Lady_Shallot: Your favorite bar is the Glass Nickel?

Fisher_King: Yeah, you've heard of it?

Lady_Shallot: Yes, of course, they've got the best five-alarm wings in Balamb.

Fisher_King: A sports fan AND a wing-eater? There's gotta be a catch.

Fisher_King: ….you're my third grade teacher, aren't you?

Lady_Shallot: lol, not that I'm aware of, no.

Lady_Shallot: And since I can't get back at you financially, then, I'm going to spend the whole date talking about my FEELINGS. ALL of them.

Fisher_King: Oh, you heartless bitch. 

Lady_Shallot: lol

Fisher_King: anyway, it's fine, because by now I'm completely drunk and just staring at your boobs, and not listening to a single thing you say anyway.

Lady_Shallot: …you know, sadly, this is not the worst date I've been on.

Fisher_King: ….Sadly, me neither.


	9. Chapter 9

To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

Subject: boredom

My job is the kind of job where you're either running your ass off, or sitting around waiting to run your ass off. I'm busy doing the latter, so you're getting treated to his e-mail. I've learned you can only play so much Minesweeper before you want to hunt down the asshole that programmed the mine locations and break his neck.

With this kind of communication medium, I've decided that we should operate on a kind of barter system, a kind of tit-for-tat (I can guess the former, but what the hell is tat, anyway?), quid pro quo deal wherein we exchange information like teenagers swap spit.

But remember the rules: no specifics- we wouldn't actually want to know who we're talking to, would we?

I'll go first.

When I was a kid, I'm almost ashamed to say I believed in magic. Not the kind of thing you dredge up from the ground, the kind of thing you'd find in fairy tales- the kind that makes dragons and knights and enchanted swords, and princesses that sleep for a thousand years. I had great hopes for my career, as a kid- I was going be a dragon slayer, live in a castle, crap fire and marry a hot narcoleptic princess.

And then I grew up of course, and realized that magic, real magic, was the sort of thing you used to kill people and fuel empires, that it was dangerous and controlled under legislative limitations…and that if you misfired it, you blew your veins open. It was worse for me, I think, than finding out the Solstice King is just a figment of rampant commercialism. Imagine my disappointment when I found out that I would never be in possession of a really magical sword, or rescue a fair damsel from a dark and winding tower. In fact, to even use magic in the first place, I would have to submit to a background check complete with paperwork to obtain a wielder's permit.

I felt like my dog died.

I think this is probably what everybody loses growing up, (or an indication of how much of a moron I was when I was a kid, whichever) I think it's probably the second thing, as I once fell out of a walnut tree and nearly speared my kidney on my enchanted (wood+duct tape enhanced) sword. Had I been charged with dispatching an actual dragon, I'm pretty sure I would've gouged my own spleen out instead. It should have been a warning sign. But like an idiot, I re-taped my sword, climbed tree with a sturdier upper-branch system, and looked for more towers.

Now, of course, I'm a regular, boring adult. I have my own bank account, and hell, I even receive the Sunday paper even though the kid that delivers it is a little asshole that I'm pretty sure is trying to break all of my windows, one at a time.

I know now that electricity is powered by the conversion of kinetic energy via magnetic forces or some scientific crap, and not fairies or rogue wizards, that there are no monsters under my bed waiting to eat my entrails, and that you should never climb a walnut tree one-armed while holding a pointy stick, lest you make a shishkabob of your internal organs.

Sometimes, though, I kind of miss believing.

What's your earliest memory?


	10. Chapter 10

To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts, com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

Subject: re: boredom

That's a hard one. I actually had to spend a few moments thinking about it, but when it came to me, it was as clear as if it had happened yesterday.

My earliest memory is of sheets, white sheets, billowing in the wind as big as ship sails. There's wet grass under my feet, freshly mown, and the sun's a bright star stain behind the fluttering pieces of cloth. I can see a woman's silhouette behind the sheets, which I assume is my mother, and I know she's humming to herself, but I can't quite catch the music, and what I remember as her voice in reality probably does not sound like her in the slightest.

In fact, the woman in my mind may not have been my mother at all, but I like to think it was.

I was adopted when I was really little, didn't I tell you?

It's odd. I can't remember my mother's face, or her voice, or if she was kind or bitter or funny, but I remember her silhouette behind the sheets, and it's as vivid as if I could reach out and touch her through the fluttering fabric.

Isn't it terrible, really, that you can't ever remember the things you most want to remember...and you can't forget the things you want desperately to forget?

Quid pro quo: What's your favorite food?


	11. Chapter 11

To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts, com)

Subject: Food

Asking a guy about his favorite food is kind of like asking a dog which kind of sock he likes to eat- we're not real picky (and dogs are colorblind, so this is a shitty analogy anyway, come to think of it). My dog will eat red and blue and black, new and clean or old and moldy. I have a dog, did I tell you that? He's a mix of what seems to be about three different mutts, a chocobo, and a garbage disposal.

Anyway, while I don't eat socks, (yet), I've tried almost everything else. That's my motto- try anything once, which has worked out really well in some cases and in others…predictably, a complete disaster.

I suppose the thing I eat most often is from this little old boat that this old man rows along the Balamb coast. I don't really like cooking for one person, so it's easier just to have Sie cook for me most days. Sie-that's the name he gives when you ask him, although he adds a bunch of garbled stuff after it I can't understand or pronounce, so I just call him Sie, he answers to Sie, and it works out for everybody.

I think he's probably like a hundred and fifty years old, but he makes the best spicy stir fry I've ever had. He cooks it in a little wok on a baking sheet with some tinder on it in the middle of the boat. Finding him can be tricky, because he's never in the same place every day, but you can always follow the smells on the dock and it'll lead you right to him. He's almost certainly insane- (I mean the man is rowing around the ocean with a giant hot fire in his wooden boat), but he's got a lot of interesting stories and he'll tell them all to you while he's cooking your lunch, which consists of pretty fresh vegetables, whatever he's managed to catch that day, and these little hot peppers that make your toes curl.

Now you made me hungry. Thanks a lot.

Question: What were you like as a kid?

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To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts, com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

Subject: Childhood nostalgia

That stir fry sounds really good.

As a kid...my first instinct is to be my own ally, of course, and tell you that I was a sweet, even-tempered little girl that had dozens of friends and that I was invited to all sorts of fantastic parties. The truth is, I was bossy, insecure, and fairly unpopular with my peers. I was always trying to pretend I was a grown-up, and always trying to mother the other kids instead of playing with them; instead of letting me, though, they shut me out more and more. It was a lonely life, being a pseudo-grown up- in fact, I can't ever remember being much of a kid. I can't say whether I've changed much now, although I must say, I do have more friends.

Question: What were YOU like as a kid?

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To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts, com)

Subject: ah, nostalgia

Ha, like you, I'd like to say I was really popular and had a lot of friends, but I was pretty much a little asshole that I think would've greatly benefitted from a severe ass-kicking; unfortunately, none of my peers ever suggested it (or, if it was suggested, was never fully carried to fruition.) It's just as well- I don't know if I would have learned anything from it anyway.

No, that's not true. I _definitely_ wouldn't have learned anything. I really was a little shit.

Case and point: when I was a kid, the best toy I had was a rock. Go ahead, laugh (you wouldn't be the first), but this was the finest rock in all of Gaia. It was useful for opening tins of frosting and crackers that I wasn't supposed to be eating, was a great skipping stone (that had to be retrieved- as I belatedly found out, it was not an instant-recall rock), and when paired with a slingshot, was great for slaying grats and getting my foster brother to shut up. And, unlike my wooden sword, it never tried to skewer my internal organs.

Fisher_King: Question: What type of guy do you normally date?


	12. Chapter 12

To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

Subject: re: ah, nostalgia

What type of guy do I normally date? Well, that's easy; the guy I'm _supposed_ to be dating. He's always an overachiever: he's intelligent, respectable, responsible (read also: wooden, uptight, and repressed, and he's almost always married to his job- although, how can I complain? I've always put mine first, too.) He's bonifide marriage material, always says the right thing, always holds open doors and pulls out chairs- and usually winds up boring me to tears.

And I know what you're thinking- well, I _think_ I know what you're thinking- it's that it's true that nice guys always finish last, right? Well, that's not exactly true- some women do enjoy the bad boy image, often because it boosts their ego- after all, if the taciturn hero turns his head their way, it must be because of some unique quality they possess, right?

After all, nothing is so common as the desire to be extraordinary.

No, while I agree that a little chivalry goes a long way, I also don't want to be treated like a piece of fine china. Somewhere between a doormat and a porcelain doll is what I'm shooting for, I suppose.

Turnabout's fairy play, what type of girl do you usually date?

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To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

Subject: ah…crap

Fisher King: 'Date' is a strong word for the girls I usually see. My dating style is more…spontaneous in nature.

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To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

Subject: right.

Hm. Is that a clever way of saying you're an easy mark?

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To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

Subject: opportunity knockers…knocks.

I prefer the label…opportunist.

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To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

Subject: redundancy.

Right. And thieves are really treasure hunters. Talk to you tonight (manwhore)?

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To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

Subject:

Wouldn't miss it (prude).

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A/N: Violence and revealing to follow in upcoming chapters (coming soon).


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Thanks to all my reviewers- your comments mean a lot. Well, this chapter's the big reveal as to why Quistis has been avoiding the world as of late. And of course, some good old Quistis/Seifer violence…why is it, whenever I write them, they wind up beating up on each other as often as kissing? What is it…there's a thin line between love and pain?

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Seifer liked mornings on the docks. The air was heavy and still, and the deep pinks and reds from the sunrise stained the sky a bloody red as the sun climbed up inch by glorious inch.

Even the sea was quiet most mornings, and Seifer could hear the call of gulls travel from one end of the small harbor to the other in long, piercing cries.

Seifer liked the job well enough, and liked his coworkers. He wasn't sure if his coworkers recognized him or not (the trademark scar was hard to miss), but no one had ever brought it up. In fact, pasts weren't a big topic of conversation, as many of them had closets brimming with skeletons of their own, particularly, it was rumored, the captain of the ship.

Two of Seifer's favorite coworkers were Sam Brunet and Celsior Clemmet. Sam had been married for almost fifteen years to a nice old woman that treated both Cel and Seifer like long-lost sons and often baked cookies and muffins and breads for everyone for long journeys. Cel was younger like Seifer, and, like Seifer, a self-proclaimed bachelor for life.

Today Sam was standing near the hull of the ship, taking the boxes of food and supplies that Seifer and Cel handed up to him.

They were setting out tomorrow on another ten day trip to search for Trabian snow crab, and the crew was currently loading the ship with supplies and pods, crate by heavy crate.

"Oy, Almasy! Ya gotta visitor, I think!" Miggs was dangling from the ship's foremast, yelling, and Seifer looked up to see a figure making its way towards him. The visitor was unmistakably female, judging by the curves, and she was wearing a business skirt and suit accompanied by high heels which were making loud clacking sounds that echoed across the pier. The other men stopped what they were doing to look, and with good reason; the girl was tall, slim, and quite attractive, given her slim sunlit profile stalking down the dock.

Seifer balanced a crate on his shoulder. "How the hell do you know she's here for _me_, Miggs?"

"Cos she was askin' the harbor master aboutcha!" yelled Miggs, shading his eyes as he checked out the approaching figure. Apparently the old coot could hear across the harbor, too.

"Izzat yer latest girl, Seifer?" asked Cel, coming around with another load of boxes and grinning as he leaned up against the crates. "'Cause if so, bravo, man."

"Yep, that's sure a sight for sore eyes," echoed Sam, grinning as the glare off the water faded enough to properly take in her features. "Heats up the ol' blood, eh Seifer?"

On the contrary, Seifer's blood had gone cold. For, making her way towards him with a terrible singular purpose was Quistis Trepe, a clipboard tucked under her arm.

"Hey, wait a sec," said Sam, narrowing his eyes. "That's one o' the heroes from the second Sorceress war, the one that always does the PR for the group on TV, right? Quistis Trepe?"

Cel nodded. "Yeah, that's the one. I'd recognize that face anywhere."

The past two years hadn't changed her much. Same fishtail hairstyle bobbing behind her, same librarian glasses perched on her nose. Same long legs pistoning beneath those short little skirts Cid was so fond of, the old pervert. Not that he had been complaining as a cadet.

Same old Trepe, anyway.

Same glacier-blue eyes boring into him as she approached.

"Hello, Seifer," she said pleasantly, as if they were two old friends meeting for tea. "Your neighbor said I might find you here."

His hackles went up immediately at her friendly tone.

"What the hell are you doing here, Trepe?"

"Mind yer manners, Almasy," said Sam, nudging him.

"Mind your damned business, Sam," snapped Seifer, glaring at him. Although he might not know anything about his past, Sam knew enough about Seifer's temper to know when to back off, and he held up his hands in defense as he backed away, but not before winking at Quistis as she walked by. She smiled politely at him in return before turning back to Seifer. "Is there somewhere more private we could talk, or a time that will be more convenient?"

"Why?" he asked, setting down the crate.

Sam and Cel were snickering like two school girls. Seifer resisted the urge to push them overboard.

Quistis lifted her shoulders lightly in response. "I have some documents for you to look over, I thought you'd like to do that in-"

"I'm at work, Trepe, in case you haven't noticed," he replied. "Whatever you have to do, you can do it now, and make it fast."

"Very well, if that's what you want," she said uncertainly.

"So why the hell _are_ you here, anyway?"

"I'm here as a representative of the Tri-Garden Tribunal," replied the young woman, adjusting the strap of the bag around her right shoulder. "I shouldn't think you'd be surprised- your attendance was required at the hearing, after all, and you were privy to the verdict."

"That was two years ago," replied Seifer, remembering the six excruciating months he'd spent in the D-District prison, waiting for a decision that would either release or kill him. The general public might not have been privy to his war crimes, but the Galbadian government had an excellent memory. He'd had no visitors, wasn't allowed any visitors, and had only four grey stone walls and a few rats for company. "What could they possibly want, now? A pound of flesh? Thought I shed that in the d-district, waiting on the snail-paced court progression."

"I'm here on behalf of Garden to fulfill the terms of the contract," said Quistis. When Seifer said nothing, she continued, in a lower voice. "You do remember, don't you?"

_"It is the finding of the Tri-Garden Council Tribunal the Seifer A. Almasy shall henceforth be barred from serving in any militant capacity, and shall be denied the right to own weapons or channel magics, and shall henceforth be assigned a caseworker that will assess progress, employment, and legal standing for no less than ten years-"_

He remembered standing there, exhausted, defeated, and humiliated, and thinking that he would almost rather had his head lobbed off instead.

"Fuck, it only took them two years to get around to it? I was beginning to think they'd forgotten."

"That's bureaucracy for you, I'm afraid. There was a lot of paperwork, but I think I've condensed it down to the essentials right here." Said Quistis, giving him an irritating little smile he supposed she thought was friendly.

That, he supposed, made Trepe his _caseworker_.

It just kept getting better and better.

Something hot was burning in his chest, some unnamable emotion climbing higher and higher into his throat that tasted like something between bile and belligerence. His eyes narrowed. "I see. Were they coming back for my balls at some point, too, or are you here for those as well?"

The blonde's eyes rolled skyward. "The Tri-Garden alliance chose to take your sword instead of your head," she said. "Surely that was a-"

"Small symbolic comfort, for all you fucking understand," he snapped. "The hell did they do with it? Add it to the Sorceress Memorial, along with Adel's shinbones? Put it in a section devoted to Leonhart's pre-pubescent greatness?"

The hard expression on Quistis's face softened for a moment. "I'm sorry, Seifer, for what it's worth, it wasn't my-"

That sad expression on her face and the reek of pity in her voice was making him angrier, and suddenly he hated her for standing there in her stupid little Garden uniform, with her stupid Garden tie, smiling at him like they were old friends and not knowing that there were worse things than being executed-

"What do you think what you have to say is worth to me? I don't want your apology or your pity," he said, glaring at her. "And in case you haven't noticed, I'm busy. So you'll just have to come back another time. You volunteer for this, or what? Thought it might be nice to revisit an old enemy, touch up a few cuts, or what?"

"I didn't 'volunteer' for this, I was _assigned_-"

"Yeah, I know, doormats like you never have any choices, do you? Your presence is always somebody else's fault."

Trepe's mouth thinned, and there was the little crinkle in her brow that showed he'd hit another chink in that icy armor of hers. "If you think that taking your frustration out on me is going to change anything about your situation, you're-"

Her attempt at a retort angered him even more. "You know what, I don't even care. Just give me what I need to sign so we can get this over with and you can get the fuck out of my face."

Everyone seemed to have forgotten about their work, and were now watching the argument on the dock with rapt attention. Seifer wished that the ship would start on fire, that a locust swarm would come, anything to distract the coworkers now staring at them as if they were the most interesting thing to happen since the debacle of Salice Walker, who had managed to harpoon his own leg while shooting said harpoon at his ex-wife's dog…or his ex-wife. No one was quite sure.

Seifer glared at them all in turn, to which they grinned shamelessly or half-heartedly pretended to be doing something else.

Apparently seeing that this was getting hostile faster than she had bargained for, Quistis sighed and pulled a pen from her pocket and a sheath of documents from her satchel. As she turned her head to look at the documents she was pulling, Seifer caught a glimpse of a thick pink scar on her right that started at the line of her jaw and ran down her neck beneath her blouse. It would have been a life-threatening wound at the time.

"The fuck did you do to your neck?"

Her head snapped back up at him, eyes narrowed as she quickly pulled up the collar on her shirt. "Why do you care?"

"I don't," he replied nastily, "Just wondered who I should congratulate. Thought it would take a mack truck to put a dent in that hide of yours, the way bullets and blood and other people's misery seem to wash right off you."

She thrust the documents and a pen at him, the edge of the clipboard poking him in the chest "Sign on the x, please," she replied in a cold, even voice that told him her hackles were finally up, that she was finally pissed off. That voice didn't contain a shred of pity. That voice he could deal with.

He snatched the clipboard from her and began slicing the pen into the paper. He didn't bother to read what he was signing- what did it matter, anyway? What more could they take? What choice did he have?

"You didn't make it any easier on yourself, you know," she said, crossing her arms as she watched him scribble. "Refusing to testify in your own defense, not saying a word during your cross, what choice did the tribunal have, Seifer?"

"Don't act like you understand anything about it, Trepe, you'll just embarrass yourself," he said, scribbling across another x with enough force to slice through the paper. "So, how is the old gang, anyway? Puberty King and his fair princess, Chicken Wuss, Messenger girl, the Cowboy-"

"Irvine's dead," she said dully.

His head snapped up at that. Irvine Kinneas? The cowboy that graced all the star-struck magazine covers with his winning smile, Garden's perfect poster boy for a child mercenary and, without a doubt, the most sane of all the great 'Liberi Fatali'?

Another emotion flared up in his chest, but it was drown out by the anger and he ignored it.

"What, being a hero isn't all it's cracked up to be?" he asked nastily.

Quistis looked away from him, her arms folded tightly. "Just sign the contracts."

The last x blotted out by a nearly unintelligible scrawl, Seifer shoved the clipboard back at her. "Guess I'm not surprised, really," he said, the words spilling out of his mouth in a rush of directionless _something_, "He was the worst fucking soldier I've-"

It all happened in a blur. One minute, he was standing on the dock, boring into Trepe's furious blue gaze, the next he was in the water, his right eye throbbing fit to burst.

The docks, meanwhile, had exploded with laughter.

Quistis was standing at the edge of the dock, breathing hard, her left hand still balled into a fist, and suddenly, the throbbing in his eye made sense. The bitch had actually slugged him.

Her head was tilted up, exposing that long marred white throat of hers, her lips pressed tightly together and her eyes ice-cold and intent. This was the Trepe he had met on the battlefield- cool and collected and utterly merciless as her gaze bored down into his.

"The fuck was that for?" he shouted at her, treading water and shoving his now sopping hair out of his eyes.

For one moment, Seifer didn't know if she was going to cry or jump in and try to drown him, but all at once the moment seemed to pass, and her face became that same mask of stone he remembered from her Instructor days. She tore off a few of the yellow carbon sheets, then threw them off the dock as well. They spiraled down like paper snowflakes, instantly becoming drenched when they hit the water.

With that, she turned and walked back off the docks, her high heels clicking, her head held high as she ignored the laughter and catcalls that trailed after her.

Seifer, meanwhile, treaded water while he gathered the pages together in a sopping, illegible ball and climbed out. It was a testament to how furious he looked that no one said a word as he stuffed the wet pages into his pocket and continued loading crates, his clothes hanging off of him in drenched folds.

Seifer watched the area that her form had retreated to long after she had left the marina.

It was Trepe who had stalked off the docks with tears standing in her eyes, so why was he the one that felt like he had lost the battle…and poorly?


	14. Chapter 14

Disclaimer: "Last syllable of recorded time" isn't me, but by one of my favorite authors, Shakespeare. And if this chapter is a little chronologically confusing, just keep in mind that in Seifer and Quistis started their GuardianHearts accounts at different times.

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Quistis sat at her desk with her chin in her hands, watching the water-drinking bird that Zell had gotten her for last year's birthday bob its colorful glass beak in and out of her water cup, its yellow pipe-cleaner tail up in the air.

Up and down the bird went, bobbing on its adjustable crosspiece, the dyed dichloromethane coloring the entire apparatus a vibrant blue.

Up and down the bird went, a colorful glass pendulum swinging in time to the clock ticking on the wall.

It had been two hours since the debacle on the docks, and the anger from her encounter with Seifer was still stinging as badly as the knuckles of the hand shed clocked him with.

Best not to include that in the report, which sat as yet untouched in front of her.

_Really professional, Quistis.__ If you keep this up, Cid will have you sorting paperclips next._

_Although_, she thoughts, _paper clips didn't talk back._

Rubbing her knuckles, she glared at the drinking bird.

That same bird had dipped its beak into her morning coffee when she, Irvine, Xu, and Zell had set up the GuardianHearts account.

That was a long time ago, a lifetime ago-

- (four months ago)-

She could still feel Irvine's arm around her shoulders, hear his easy laughter in her ears-

-she wheeled from the memory in pain and revulsion, blinking rapidly as she once again focused on the little room, the little bird drinking without drinking, a blown glass simulation of life. Unconsciously, she rubbed at the scar on her neck.

Ironic how close that tacky desk ornament came to replicating her own existence, these days.

4 months. Two full weeks of dipping in and out of consciousness in the med bay. 3 months of leaving her room only when necessary and always after curfew, of ignoring the phone, of ignoring Cids requests for her depositions and avoiding the friends she could not bear to face, all waiting for some part of her to return, to regenerate like the tissue at her throat and bring her back to the world she had known, the people she had known, to the mold the world had recognized her in.

But it had not come.

A month ago, she had grown weary of the silence of her room and turned on her personal laptop for light and sound as an alternative to cabin fever. Eventually, she had crept into her old e-mail account, and had been mindlessly deleting over three hundred accumulated messages when the user message from Fisher_King had popped up, effectively breaking her isolation. Since then, she'd had an ear to listen and a friend who made her laugh, which was all far more than she deserved.

But the world went on, didnt it? She got up like a robot every morning at 5:30 am and turned on the coffee maker. She took her morning jog around the Quad before anyone else was up. She drank her coffee in the sterile silence of her room. She whispered through the hall like a ghost and then lay her head down on her pillow with no real hope of sleep.

The blasted bird bobbed up and down on her desk like clockwork, and every day, she breathed in and out and went about her life. Nothing had stopped because he died.

Just her, it seemed.

Up and down, up and down, went the bird.

The clock ticked on, mercilessly forward and never back, and outside, she could hear the shuffle of students and Instructors between classes, SeeDs between jobs, and even her scar had sealed itself shut. Each syllable of recorded time was moving the world according to its instructed pace where all she could do was stay still, waiting, waiting for something, someone, gone forever-

With a sweep of her arm, the bird and the papers of her report flew off of her desk, the paperweight shattering into a thousand satisfying pieces. The clock came next, the face cracked down the middle, the big and little hands now permanently frozen in place.

She stood over it for a moment, feeling angry and vindictiveand very like a fool.

After awhile, her breathing quieted, and the thunder of her heart in her ears settled to a dull throb. The tears did had not come before still remained absent.

_More than you deserve._

Quistis sank into her chair and settled her chin back onto her arms, staring blankly at the wall.

The world could stop for an afternoon.

Hers seemed to have stopped forever.


	15. Chapter 15

"The hell happened to you, ya know?" asked Rajin. Seifer, half buried under a jumbo- sized bag of frozen peas, replied with something that was muffled by the plastic. His sopping clothes were piled by the door for the second time in two weeks.

"FIGHT?" asked Fujin, leaning over to pluck the makeshift icepack from Seifer's face, looking down at his swollen eye with interest and an irritating motherly disapproval.

"None of your business," replied Seifer, snatching the bag back and laying it delicately back over his now very black eye. Trepe may have been too spineless to handle a diplomatic contract signing properly, but her right hook certainly left nothing to be desired. His eye was very nearly swollen shut, and even through the throbbing headache that followed it that suggested a concussion, Seifer wasn't entirely sure he hadn't deserved worse.

Even from underneath the bag, Seifer could feel the stare of his two best friends bearing down on him, and knew their scrutiny would not lift up until their curiosity was satisfied. "Fine," he muttered. "I ran into a blast from the past today, and she-"

"SHE?" interrupted Fujin, raising an eyebrow.

"She, ya know? Holy shit, you got beat up by a girl?" roared Rajin, falling onto the couch in a fit of booming, hysterical laughter. Seifer considered getting up and beating the shit out of him, but found he didn't have the energy. Instead, he considered pointing out to Rajin that he himself got beat up by his girlfriend…routinely.

"Yeah, _she_," snarled Seifer. "Quistis Fucking Trepe."

"It just keeps gettin' better an' better, doesn't it, Fuj?" howled Rajin, holding his stomach. Vagrant wagged his tail and licked at Rajin's laughing face, and for one long moment Seifer wanted all of them to disappear forever.

Fujin's expression continued to register surprise. "QUISTIS?"

"Did I stutter?" snapped Seifer. "She brought a bunch of paperwork from the Tri-Garden Tribunal I was supposed to sign, and, you know what, whatever, I don't want to get into it."

Fujin's single eye flickered across the injury. "DESERVED?" she asked shrewdly.

_Quistis's__ stoic expression seemed to waver at the mention of Irvine, her voice flat and tight with pain, and he remembered feeling vindication at the sight, that if he was going to hurt, she was going to hurt right along with him, not smile at him like they were old fucking friends when two years ago she'd had her whip around his throat, her spells in his skin- _

He remembered the newly healed scar at her neck. The torture and the fresh ache in her face, that flash of vulnerability- and he'd speared her with it.

Seifer put the bag of peas over his eye socket again, feeling the cold soothe over the inflamed skin.

"Yeah…think I did."


	16. Chapter 16

Disclaimer: This chapter borrows heavily from the movie. See original disclaimer for details.

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.

Fisher_King: Do you ever feel like you've become the worst version of yourself? Like all the really crappy parts inside you have all risen to the surface, so that every time you open your mouth, you can't help but sound like an asshole? Like you've become the kind of person where, if the kid version of you could see yourself now, you'd have built a time machine to travel to the future and kick your own ass? That you've developed the kind of meanness where, if somebody pisses you off, (and somehow, everybody does), instead of blowing it off you always have to react to it, get in their face, and wreck their day? You probably have no idea what I'm talking about.

"Ha," thought Quistis, slamming down her pint of Bigg and Wedge's Triple Fudge Brownie Blast, typing with her spoon in her mouth.

Lady_Shallot: No, I do. I know _exactly_ what you're talking about. Only, instead of being able to say what's really on my mind, I clam up and my mind just goes blank. Then I spend all night tossing and turning and trying to figure out what I _should_ have said. For example, what should I have said to the jerk that I had to deal with today, who has made and will continue to make my professional life a veritable hell? Even now, the right words elude me.

Lady_Shallot: I _really_ envy you the ability to say what you think.

Fisher_King: Ha, wouldn't it be great if we could switch places? Then I would avoid being a complete ass and you could be a jerk all the time, and we'd both be happy. I have to warn you, though, when you do say what you want to say the moment you want to say it, it never feels as good as you think it's going to.

Lady_Shallot: Oh, I don't know, it would have felt pretty good today.

Fisher_King: Do you think we should meet?

Quistis sat back in her chair, blinking as she removed the spoon from her mouth.

"Meet." She repeated, sighing, dropping her spoon into the empty ice cream carton.

Lady_Shallot: I don't know. This -not-knowing has its advantages, doesn't it? We don't have to be who people expect us to be- we can just ourselves. I've never really had…no I've _never_ had that before. It's kind of nice, isn't it? For awhile, anyway.

Fisher_King: Yeah, I see your point.

Fisher_King: On with the keyboard masquerade, then.

Lady_Shallot: Goodnight, Fisher King

Fisher_King: night Lady Shallot


	17. Chapter 17

Xu Yiang stalked down the Garden hallway with purpose, a folder tucked under her arm and a determined look on her face. Other cadets, who had come to appreciate the consequences of such a look on SeeD Yiang's face, quickly got out of her way.

Headmaster Cid's secretary looked to be on lunch, as the small desk beside the door was empty. Xu paused at the door to Cid's office- she thought she'd heard Squall's voice inside.

"It's not a question of getting the attention of the press," Cid was saying. "It's a question of getting the _right_ attention-"

"Sir? May I come in?"

"What is it, Cadet Yiang?"

Xu tucked the folder under her arm. "Headmaster, Commander, may I respectfully ask what reason there is for giving the supervisory mission to Quistis?"

Cid smiled kindly enough at her, but there was note in his voice when he spoke that indicated he did not appreciate the question. "The assignment is…a challenge. Given the circumstances, it seemed best to give Quistis something that will take her outside of Garden, that will occupy her mind."

"Besides that," said Squall, "Quistis, out of all of the Instructors in Almasy's J.C. classes, was the one that had the greatest success in handling him. Our last emissary couldn't handle the job, and that was over a year ago. The Council wants the issue resolved, in light of- " Squall hesitated.

In light of 'That Thing We Don't Talk About', thought Xu.

"-recent events," finished Squall, and there was that same note in his voice, that same hard pain that was present in all of them, that surfaced from time to time in Selphie, Zell, Rinoa, Squall, and, she imagined, Quistis also.

"I understand," she said, even though she didn't. But that had always been the way of things. She was a soldier, after all. She was supposed to show up, salute, and kill whomever they pointed at. Understanding was a luxury other people had.

"Certainly I understand your concern for Quistis, SeeD Yiang. Of course, it hardly needs to be spoken that it is a concern all of us share."

_Touchy touchy_, thought Xu, though she knew her questioning of Cid's delegation would not have been well-received under the best of circumstances.

"Of course, Headmaster."

"If Quistis feels that the assignment was given to her in error," continued Cid, "I would expect her to come and see me personally."

"And so she would, I imagine, Headmaster. My concern was my own." And if there was a little steel in that, well, it couldn't be helped. "Thank you for your time, Headmaster, Squall."

Xu walked out into the hallway again, maneuvering through the day traffic and gripping her folder perhaps a little harder than necessary.

Xu had no doubt that Almasy would draw out the fight in Quistis, as, no doubt, was Cid and Squall's intention…Xu's concern was over whether anything remained in Quistis to fight _with_.


	18. Chapter 18

Don't ask about the spacing here. I have no idea. In fact, I'm getting a little sick and tired of having to upload, then subsequently edit every damned chapter because this site eats all of my punctuation (even though the file's in the proper format.) Curse.

...

...

..

Fisher_King: All right, let the games begin. I still say you're nuts, by the way.  
Lady_Shallot: Time will tell. You've got the game on?  
Fisher_King: Playing on the radio as we speak. You?  
Lady_Shallot: On the television in my bedroom.  
Fisher_King: Oh really?

Fisher_King: Your bedroom?  
Lady_Shallot: Don't get any ideas.

Lady_Shallot: I'm wearing sweatpants.  
Fisher_King: A guy can dream.

Fisher_King: And so I will. For example, from my viewpoint, you're sitting all alone in your room in a suggestive satin nightgown, one strap slightly off kilter…  
Lady_Shallot: Well, as you said, a guy can dream.  
Fisher_King: Ouch.  
Fisher_King: Oh, come on, like you've never pictured what –I- look like?  
Lady_Shallot: I'll never tell.  
Fisher_King: Oh come on.  
Lady_Shallot: Well, I don't really need to. For one thing, you're cocky, so I know you have to be at least marginally attractive, (or were attractive in the past and now have an impressive beer gut you conveniently overlook when you look into the mirror every day.) You're fairly aware of social norms, so you can be a good dresser when you want to be, and you are, because I think, being marginally attractive, you're just a little vain about your looks.

Lady_Shallot: From our conversations, you're used to saying things that are borderline offensive, but you've obviously gotten away with them based on some measure of charm. Furthermore, since you're cocky and somewhat attractive, your place is a total mess.  
Fisher_King: How the hell did you arrive at that conclusion?  
Lady_Shallot: Attractive men are either a: very neat, because they take every aspect of their appearance into consideration, or b: slovenly, because they know they can get away with it. I'm going with the idea you're a bit messy.  
Fisher_King: Holy shit- you got all that from a keyboard?  
Lady_Shallot: Well, am I wrong?  
Fisher_King: …are you some sort of psychological profiler for the government?  
Lady_Shallot: Ha. The game's starting.  
Fisher_King: Annnnnd, what a surprise. Welk's completely botched the opening kick.  
Lady_Shallot: Are you going to be this negative through the whole game?  
Fisher_King: I don't know. Are they going to suck completely through the whole game?

Lady_Shallot: Just give them a minute. The Esthar Elvorets have an ironclad defense, but their offense relies mainly on possession time to wear down the opponent. If Welks can just get through the defense, they'll have a fighting chance.

Lady_Shallot: Goal! What did I tell you?

Fisher_King: There might be a method to your madness after all.


	19. Chapter 19

To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

I love Fall. I always get excited when that first chill note creeps into the air, or when that first splash of bright color appears on the leaves. Someday when I have my own house with a big backyard I'll rake all the leaves into a big pile and jump in the middle. Childish, I know, but then, I didn't have the opportunity to do many 'childish' things when I was little.

The beginning of Fall always makes me want to curl up with an extra-thick book and a cup of hot cider.

Do you like books? I've loved books since I was little. We didn't often get to go to the little library in town, but when we did, I loaded up my shoulder bag to bursting and dragged it home in the dirt by a broken strap. I read everything I could get my hands on: books on insects, on constellations, on poetry and about star-crossed lovers...I devoured each one page by page.

Fiction, of course, was my favorite because it was like pulling on a whole different skin, stepping into a different world and seeing that world behind a brand new pair of eyes. I sympathized with the hero's plight- laughed at his minor fallings, cried when my favorite supporting character died, and always looked forward to a happy ending.

Growing up, I think, books were the only real friends that I had.

Do you read, and, if so, what are your favorite books?

I was thinking about what you said the other day, about this form of communication being similar to a masquerade. But it's an inside-out-masquerade, isn't it- the opposite of real life? You get to see another person's feelings, their thoughts, their words, when in the outside world that's the part we hide away. What is it about a mask that makes us brave?

Why is it so easy to tell you these things, I wonder? Is it because you don't know who I'm supposed to be, what I'm supposed to act like in my daily life? Or is it because I've never met you, so that I can pretend your opinion of me doesn't matter if you don't like what I write? Maybe both, I suppose.

I rather sort of like this screen between us- it makes me brave, and for all my reputation, I don't think I've ever really been brave in my life. I wonder: is this thing with us the same as a knight donning his armor as he rides into battle; in our case, a layer of keystrokes between us and the world? 

...

.

To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

Yeah, I remember my first book- it was Sleeping Beauty. My mom read it to me out of this old library book that had penises drawn in pen on all the illustrations. (My mom tried to blot them out with post-it notes, for all the good it did.) After that, I was pretty much hooked on fairy tails. My mom used to perch on the kitchen counter pretending to be asleep while I galloped around the kitchen on a broom-horse, slaying imaginary dragons and saving the day. My sword was a soup ladle and my shield was a dinner plate. (I think I wore a stew pot on my head for a helmet)- don't judge me.

After saving the day, my mom usually made me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich with extra raisins, and that night, if it was a good night, she'd read me another fairy tail.

Don't think I've ever shared that story with anyone before- must be because I can share it with complete impunity (that keyboard armor you mentioned in your last e-mail). Even if we do meet, you can't hold it against me, though- this is coming from a kid who tried to climb a tree with a sharp wooden sword hooked to his belt.

You know what game I hated as a kid? Hide and seek. That has to be the scariest damn kid's game ever invented (not that I would ever admit to being scared as a kid). You'd hunker down in the darkest, most cramped place you could find, holding your breath whenever you heard the slightest hint of a footstep your way, and after awhile of sitting in the dark, you almost wanted to jump out, to be found, just so the anticipation of it could end. It was like some damned rabbit shivering in a foxhole and waiting for the fox to come home, and I remember thinking that human beings have to be the only dumb creatures that mimic prey for fun.

...

..

To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

I remember hide and seek. For some reason, I was always picked to be the seeker. Despite the fear you say the hiders suffer from, the path of a seeker is a lonely one- at least the hiders are knit together in their fear. The seeker's an outsider, wandering from one unnaturally quite part of the house to the next, trying to find what doesn't want to be found.

Triple Triad, now there's a game. I'll never forget my first card, a Mini Mog- I used it as a book mark until I could afford enough cards to assemble into a real usable deck. THAT game never made me feel lonely, because you could always find someone willing to play, whether it was a bartender, the train conductor, or the Card Queen herself.

You said you had a dog- what's he like?

...

.  
To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

My dog.

My dog is some sort of unnatural combination of Snow Lion, freight train and garbage disposal. He's not particularly bright, but he is content- in fact, every day of this dog's life is probably his 'the best day ever', and he likes just about everybody. (We should all be so lucky.) He enjoys long walks on the beach, humping legs, eating directly out of the garbage, and sleeping on my pillow.

I planned on having a dog, but this one just sort of wandered in one day and decided not to wander out, and I guess we just kind of got used to each other. When I'm not missing socks it's nice to have the company, and the dog doesn't really care what I do, so long as he gets fed and petted.

My life should be so simple. 

….

...

.

He was bringing in a net full of fish, their silver bodies churning and thrashing as they swung over the deck with a gigantic wet slap. There was a pleasant burn in his arms from the tension in the rope, the sun on his bare back, and the fish were barking as he lifted them from the silver net.

_What?_

He picked up a fish, its dark, shiny eye rolling, its mouth gaping as it wriggled in his hand-

"_Woof_."

Seifer cracked open an eye, finding himself not on a boat, but sprawled across the couch. Vagrant barked again, a low, soft 'woof'. For whatever reason, the dog didn't bark often.

"Damn," muttered Seifer. There was someone at the door, and it could be no one he wanted to see. Neither Rajin, Fujin, or Cel even bothered to knock anymore.

"Damnit!" hissed Seifer as he stubbed his toe on the coffee table on his way up.

Stumbling towards the door, he wrenched it open to see Quistis Trepe staring coolly back at him, another sheath of papers tucked under her arm.

"Oh, fuck." He muttered.

"Nice to see you, too," she replied coolly.

She was wearing a pencil skirt and a white turtleneck sweater today- no Garden uniform today. "So what is it today? Have you come back to blacken my other eye, Instructor?"

She gave him an appraising look. "Well, that really all depends on you, doesn't it?"

A tense silence ensued, wherein Seifer searched for words and Quistis balled her fists in anticipation of the words he was trying to come up with, no doubt calculating the proper trajectory for his other eye.

She was junctioned to the hilt- he could smell it on her, that vague mix of lye soap and fireworks that layered beneath her lotion, the familiar hum of electricity that crackled quietly in her skin. It was a nostalgic perfume, a quiet static that charged the air around her.

Shiva, judging by the ice in her eyes…although that could be good old fashioned dislike, too.

Her blue butcher's eyes were gazing into his with the same calm foreboding a calamity she would use on the battlefield. "Are you going to remember what few manners you have and invite me in, or not?"

Vagrant chose that moment to appear by Seifer's side at the door, letting out another resounding 'WOOF'. Quistis's gaze flickered to the dog, assessing. "Does he bite?"

"Just a little," replied Seifer, letting the door shut behind him. "Please, do come in."

Quistis took the screen door handle and hesitated, and Seifer knew Quistis was weighing the odds of the dog actually being vicious against the odds that Seifer was being a dick. Evidently deciding that it was more likely that Seifer was messing with her, (a markedly safe bet), Seifer heard her creak the screen door open and slip inside.

After a quick sniff of Quistis's hand, the dog's tail began wagging like an airplane propeller. "Hi puppy," said Quistis, kneeling down carefully in her pencil skirt to pet him. She shot Seifer a dirty look as she patted the harmless dog between the ears.

Seifer, for his part, glared at the dog. Traitor.

"What's his name?"

"Does it matter?"

He watched her enter the kitchen, the dog now trailing behind her.

"I see you drew the short stick in your little hero clique again. Or maybe you've come for a bit of rebellion? In that case, I'm not available for grudge fuckings until 3pm."

Quistis's expression did not change, and for an instant he almost admired her bearing. Almost. "This can take as long as you want it to, you know."

He grinned, folding his arms behind his head and giving his joints a good pop. "I have all day. Do _you_, Instructor?"

The lift in her eyebrow was positively supercilious. "Seeing as you never learned a bloody thing in my class, I think it's a bit ridiculous for you to call me Instructor, don't you?"

"What shall it be, then? Mistress? Your most exalted highness?"

She took a deep breath, searching his ceiling for patience. "Quistis will do."

"In that case, Quistis," he drawled sarcastically, "Won't you please have a have a seat?"

"I will. Thank you." Satchel in hand, she selected the least decrepit piece of furniture in the room (which apparently was the couch) and took a seat, crossing her ankles demurely in front of her. She motioned for him to do the same. Vagrant inched up excitedly for another pet and she accommodated him, scratching him around the ears. Seifer almost told her that petting that particular dog and expecting him to go away was like locking a kid in a candy shop and expecting him not to eat anything, but he decided to let Quistis find out the hard way.

"Can I get you some tea?" he asked. "Crumpets?"

"Try not to be a smartass if you can help it, please," she replied airily, pulling out another sheath of papers and uncapping a pen. "How have you been feeling? Any negative thoughts, or feelings of violence or sui-"

"Oh no, not since I've invited Hyne back into my life," he said, folding his hands in his lap.

"I-" She looked up, her pen's progress coming to a halt. "Excuse me?"

"Since I have invited Hyne back into my life, I can see the greater plan in store for me, and I have now chosen to make my every day a miracle."

Quistis blinked, looking completely bemused. "I-er, that's great, Seifer-"

Seifer leaned forward with an earnest look on his face, doing his best not to burst out laughing. "How about you, Quistis, have you accepted Hyne as your god and savior?"

"I...erm-"

Seifer burst into laughter, at which point Quistis's confused expression changed to one of murderous exasperation.

"_Hyne_? Are you serious? You actually _bought_ that?"

Quistis wrote something on her paper which he guessed was not complimentary. The dog had now placed his massive head on her knee, looking forlorn at the loss of petting. She tried to ignore him. "Have you had a physical check-up since the war? Are there any long-standing injuries you'd like to report?"

His body was positively seared with scars that the sorceress had inflicted out of either anger or pure sadistic whimsy, not mention a few long-standing marks from his old orphanage mates as well, (her included) but he wasn't about to tell her that. "I'm fine, although I think I'd like to file a complaint about some injuries I sustained last week."

Quistis did not look up from her paper. "I invite you to do so, although I must warn you, beyond a very basic and desperate desire to reassure the public that no current or past sorceress or their 'playthings' are a present threat to the public, you'll find they care very little about your welfare personally."

"Good to know," he said, glowering at her. 

_Bitch._

Another scribble on the paper. "Have you been having any nightmares? Any residual effects that you believe might be linked to the sorceress possession?"

"No."

_If only he could lie as easily to himself.  
_  
Vagrant had now hefted himself onto the arm of the couch, and was wriggling into Quistis as closely as his nearly 80-pound hulk would allow within the limited cushion space, his tail thumping against the leather. Seifer thought he looked like an obese (and somewhat dim-witted) hawk hovering precariously on the arm of the chair and slobbering all over himself.

The dog really had no dignity at all, thought Seifer disgustedly.

"Get," he told the dog, who simply wagged his tail in response.

"He's fine," said Quistis off-handedly, moving over to allow the dog better room. Said dog moved into the opening immediately and hung over her shoulder, seeming to watch her every pen stroke, although Seifer knew that what the dog was really doing was waiting for an opening to slobber all over her face.

"When did you get the dog?" she asked, pausing in her writing to scratch said dog on the head, which made it official- the dog would not leave her alone until she either left or died.

He folded his arms. "What, do I have to obtain a fucking permit to take in a stray now, too?"

"No," said Quistis calmly. "I was simply making conversation. I believe you'll find that practice was covered extensively in the Seed Manual, Chapter 8, under 'manners'."

"Never read the thing," he said, glowering at her.

"What a surprise," she said coldly, disentangling herself from Vagrant's slobbering clutches as she got to her feet. Unfortunately for Quistis, Vagrant chose that moment to spring his last-minute attack and knocked her off balance as he set to licking all of her face he could reach. She sputtered, grabbing the dog's collar and trying to haul him off, all while providing a tantalizing glimpse of the tops of her thigh-high stockings as her skirt rode up in the process.

Seifer burst into laughter. "What can I say, he recognizes a kindred spirit."

"Piss off, Seifer," she snarled, managing to pry the overzealous creature off of her long enough to get to her feet. Her right cheek was positively covered in dog spit, and when she wiped at it with her sleeve, it smeared the mucus-like material all over her expensive sweater.

Disheveled and covered in dog slobber, Quistis slammed a card on the table. "This is the number at which I can be reached if you were to relocate, marry, or Hyne forbid, drop dead-"

"Was that sarcasm I detected, there?" he sneered.

"Try _hope_," snapped Quistis. "I will be by at a later date to conduct another follow-up. In the meantime, please believe me when I say I will be making the absolute minimum of stops to confirm your continued welfare and compliance with the Garden Council's agreement."

"I'll rest easier knowing," he agreed. "Thank you so much."

He watched her leave, seeing her trying to wipe off the dog drool off her suit and hearing her curse up a storm as she tripped over a half-buried tire on the way to the car.

He smiled. Who would have thought Trepe knew that kind of language?


	20. Chapter 20

To: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts_com)

From: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts_com)

Re: running in circles

I have a confession to make to you: I really hate running, although I do it every day. Every morning, rain or shine or hail, I roll out of bed, slip into my sneakers, and hit the trails (or the gym, if it really is hailing).

I suppose running irritates me on a philosophical level- where am I running _to_, running _from_? Of course I realize that this is exercise and being so is supposed to be unpleasant, and that you are not supposed to wax philosophical while doing it, but I do, every morning, which is a workout my brain doesn't want either.

Maybe I'm subconsciously running from my job.

The thing is, running never used to bother me. It was just something I did, because that's what you're supposed to do to keep in shape. Its all in the Miss Perfect manual- you're supposed to eat green vegetables and wash your face before bed, and you're supposed to go running or play tennis. So I ran and ate my vegetables and I always brushed my hair two-hundred strokes before going to bed, and I never thought about _why _I was doing it.

But one day I woke up, and I was just...different. Can you wake up one day and be a totally different person? Is that possible? Well, one day, I woke up, and everything about my life, every small routine and habit and occupation didn't seem to fit me anymore. I'd outgrown them (or maybe Id actually stopped to think about them, I don't know.)

My profile says I'm in customer service, and so I am. I have been in this line of work since I was very young- I have never had any other work, never been trained for any other work, and have difficulty fathoming what other work could be like. Lately, however, I have found myself wondering, even wanting to know something different than what I've grown up with. What does this mean? Should I abandon my job, my friends, my old life? Or should I go on like I have been- going to sleep every night and hoping I wake up somebody differentmaybe somebody who likes to run?

I want somebody to tell me what I should do, but that's just the problem- all my life, somebody else has been telling me what to do and before now Ive never seen fit to question it.

After I send this e-mail to you, I will lace up my running shoes, tie my hair back, and run nowhere and back again. Not because I like it, but because I don't know what else to do. Because if I hate the routine, I hate the idea of not having one even more.

Maybe I should take up tennis? That's running with a purpose, after all- at least I'd be chasing something, instead of running in circles and feeling sorry for myself.

...

..

.

...

..

.

To: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts,com)

Re: running

I like mornings. Mornings are like your best intentions, they start out simple and quiet and clean: a good sunrise, quiet over a sleepy harbor, and the day seems full of possibilities, and in the silence you can picture how the perfect day is going to play out. And then one sound by another, day picks up, and all the noise and clutter and inevitable fuck-ups of life set in, and the morning is just a well-intended memory, there to nag you about what you should have done, rather than what you actually did, which I suppose is an excellent metaphor for life, which then reminds me that Im a chronic underachiever, which pisses me off even more.

Come to think of it, maybe I don't like mornings after all. Maybe I just like the idea of mornings, like you like the idea of running.

I'll make you a deal: maybe someday you can come and watch the sunrise with me, and I'll run in circles with you.

...

..

.

To: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

Re: re: running

Deal.


	21. Chapter 21

Lady_Shallot: What did you want to be, when you grew up?

Fisher_King: Doesn't really matter now, does it?

Lady_Shallot: Well, let's say for the purposes of discussion that it does.

Fisher_King: Yeah, in that it sets up a depressing disparity between your dreams and actual reality.

Lady_Shallot: Suspend cynicism for five minutes, would you?

Fisher_King: Fine. I guess...I wanted to save the world. I wanted to be some sort of crummy hero. Happy?

Lady_Shallot: You remind me of someone.

Fisher_King: Who?

Lady_Shallot: Oh, just someone I used to know.

Fisher_King: Anyway, I don't think you should be held to the shit you dream up as a kid.

Lady_Shallot: Why not?

Fisher_King: For one, I was an idiot when I was a kid.

Lady_Shallot: And you're smarter now?

Fisher_King: Comparatively, yeah, I guess so.

Lady_Shallot: I hate that phrase 'comparatively.' You could have been the village idiot as a child- to know your ABC's would be a 'comparative' improvement. Things should be described by their own merit, or not at all. Contrasts are such a shallow way to see a world, dont you think?

Fisher_King: ...bad day?

Lady_Shallot: I'm sorry, I just jumped right down your throat, didn't I?

Fisher_King: just a little.

Lady_Shallot: Yes. Let's just say it was a trying day.

Fisher_King: What was trying about it?

Lady_Shallot: I think the shorter list would be of what -wasn't- trying about it.

Fisher_King: That bad, huh?

Lady_Shallot: What do you after a bad day?

Fisher_King: Curse a lot, usually, but I'm pretty sure it's different for girls. Don't you women usually fill up a hot tub with rose petals and pink scented bubbles and drink wine and talk about all of the feelings you've ever had, are having, or ever will have to your six best girlfriends?

Lady_Shallot: Where are you _GETTING_ this stuff?

Fisher_King: Various observations...

Lady_Shallot: From what? Hynequin romance novels?

Fisher_King: Are you saying that Hynequin romance novels are embellishments of the pure, interesting, and hopefully sordid truth of women?

Lady_Shallot: Are YOU saying you actually READ one?

Fisher_King: ...maybe.

Fisher_King: So, what, women don't walk around with heaving bosoms and large, questing eyes?

Lady_Shallot: Not last I checked, no.

Fisher_King: Damn. That was the only part of the book I liked.

Fisher_King: made you laugh, didn't I?

Lady_Shallot: Yes, yes you did.

Fisher_King: What else has these books lied to me about?

Lady_Shallot: One can only wonder.

Lady_Shallot: May I ask why you bothered to read one of those books in the first place?

Fisher_King: eh, a female friend left one lying around, and I thought that they were like some sort of strategy guide for women, detailing all your weaknesses and deepest desires. I thought I could save time and energy getting straight to the source of the mystery. So I read one, and it turns out that for one thing you women are actually nuts, and two, that you do, in fact, want the impossible.

_The female friend had been Fujin, and he and Rajin had found the novel tucked under her pillow while they were hanging around her dorm, waiting for her to finish changing. Shed caught them reading passages out loud to one another, laughing their asses off, and had promptly beat the crap out of both of them._

Lady_Shallot: Oh, come on, no one reads those things because they're accurate. When have you ever read a fictional book with the expectation that every piece of it would ring true to real life? You read a book for the exact opposite reason- to _escape_ from reality.

Fisher_King: But why read something that sets the bar so unrealistically high for a relationship, when nothing you'll ever experience could possibly measure up?

Lady_Shallot: For the same reasons you pick up 'The Once and Future King', or 'The Ashes of Pyrember'; so that you can believe incredible things are possible, if only up until the last page. Not that I think 'The Seduction of Miss Julianne Grey' or the "Flame and the Frost" was anything incredible, but...it's nice to think that love solves everything, knows everything, and means everything, just for a little while.

Fisher_King: Plus the bare-chested sex gods, right?

Lady_Shallot: I'll let you in on a little secret: it's not really the sex stuff that women read them for. It's a close second, but not the main reason. At least, not for a lot of the women I know.

Fisher_King: Oh?

Lady_Shallot: No. Though I can only speak for myself, I think it's more of the process of falling in love that women really like- how a person can come to make you feel special, how you can grow to depend on and be comfortable with another person without them disappointing you...how needing someone doesn't have to be a mistake, because they come to need you, too.

Lady_Shallot: In **_reality_**, all I've ever seen of dating has been just a series of masks that people put on for each other because they want someone to like them, even if it means being anyone other than who they really are. They have to pretend that they dont hurt, that they dont make mistakes, that they like everyone and everything about themselves. Is it so unrealistic to hope that someone will like you for who you are? That two people could be honest with each other about the kind of people they are, and about the things they need from each other?

Lady_Shallot: Anyway, if it were only about the sex, then women would just cut to the meat of it and buy erotica. But most prefer the journey, not just the end.

Seifer sat back in his chair, blinking at the screen. Holy shit. That was probably the most comprehensive summary of what women wanted that he had ever heard.

Lady_Shallot: aaannnnd I've probably put you to sleep. Sorry.

Lady_Shallot: I know most men go by the holy trinity of beer, sports and sex, so what I'm saying probably sounds crazy.

Fisher_King: I think that's probably a convenient myth guys encourage to prevent them from having to say something deep and meaningful...ever.

Fisher_King: I mean, don't get me wrong, we're pretty simple creatures, nearly unicellular if you're going by emotions from minute to minute, but we _do_ have actual feelings from time to time.

Lady_Shallot: I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you didnt.

Fisher_King: You didn't, and it's not like guys do anything to dispel that myth. The thing is, when you get down to it, I think everybody's afraid of rejection in one way or another. Men and women just hide it differently. You women pour over it, dissect it, pick at it until it's a scar, and we just pretend that it doesn't exist.

Lady_Shallot: They're both unhealthy, I suppose.

Fisher_King: Be honest, though, do girls really want some 'sensitive' guy that sets off the waterworks more than she does? Would you want a guy that revealed every feeling the exact moment he had them?

Lady_Shallot: Well no, but neither do we want some emotional stoic that pretends he doesn't have any feelings, either.

_Ha_, thought Seifer. _There's **Squall** in a nutshell.  
_  
Lady_Shallot: And while we're on the subject, honestly, what about the damsel in distress thing? Is that what men really want? Someone that needs saving all the time?

Fisher_King: Well, yeah, when they're young and dumb and need their egos stroked, guys like something pretty that'll hang off their arm, something that needs them around to save the day. When they get a little older, though, they want someone they can actually do things with that's not having some crisis every half hour. But it's like you said- people want to feel needed, too, which is why I wouldn't bother with a chick that was totally focused on her career. What's the point of dating someone that makes it a point not to need you?

Fisher_King: Anyway, gotta go- work. Talk to you later.

Fisher_King: By the way, what's with the 'Lady Shallot' name, anyway?

Lady_Shallot: The friend that set up this account gave it to me. She said she was trying to be 'poetic', but really, she was just being mean.

Lady_Shallot: Bye, Fisher King.

Fisher_King: Bye, Lady Shallot

Quistis stared at her screen for a moment, letting his last thoughts run through her head.

He had a point, she thought, but then, what was the point of growing to need someone that was only going to leave you, leaning on someone for support so hard that, when they disappeared, you fell flat on your face?


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: I didnt write the Lady of Shallot. Obviously.

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It was after curfew, but as the new Disciplinary Committee had nothing on the old one, Quistis was not particularly worried about getting caught out of her room. Though, even if Rajin and Fujin had still been at the helm of the D.C., she still liked her chances.

After the Second Sorceress war, she had gotten to know both Rajin and Fujin a little better. She had been surprised when the two had chosen to remain with Garden, but then, by the end of the war, they had been moving independently of their once-idol for some time. She had consulted with Fujin more than once for both tech supplies and troubleshooting both on missions and in the classroom, and had helped Rajin out with more than a few of his lesson plans, once he got over his apparent shyness and asked her for her input. She found both of them to be friendly and professional, and now requested Fujin personally when dealing with a tech issue.

Quistis had been spending her insomniac nights not locked in her room, which seemed to close in on her like a concrete avalanche, but in the more open confines of the library. She brought a book or, lately, a laptop, and stayed until the custodial staff began to come in the mornings. Though Cid had suspended her from teaching, he had not thought to take her Instructor Badge, which conveniently granted her access to most of the rooms in Garden.

As she was not expecting to run into anyone, she was dressed in a pair of Garden-issue sweatpants with the words BALAMB embossed down the sides of the legs, and a ratty old t-shirt that read "1st Annual Balamb Garden Hot Dog Eating Contest". The 1st Annual Balamb Garden Hot Dog eating contest was, sadly, the last, as an overzealous Zell had nearly choked to death on his 17th dog.

Despite the near-casualty, however, they'd had to drag him feet first away from the table.

After that, (and after the vomiting that had to be induced due to the 1st Annual Ice Cream Eating Contest due to some questionable refrigerating techniques), Cid had promptly outlawed all eating contests at Garden, much to Zell's disappointment. Quistis's favorite memory was of Zell hanging onto the table with one hand and trying vigorously to shove more hotdogs into his mouth with the other before both Irvine and Squall took a leg and hauled him away. He refused to speak to them for a week, until finally, they'd commandeered a raid of the food pantry and thrown him a hot dog party in his room. Irvine had even dressed up like a dancing hot dog for the occasion, and Zell, Selphie, and Rinoa had taken great delight in pushing him over and rolling him down the hallway, with Squall rolling his eyes and trying not to laugh as he watched.

A laugh bubbled in her and quickly died before it could reach her lips, and suddenly, she felt like crying instead. In the back of her mind, she wondered if every memory would always be so bogged down in grief that it would suck all happiness to the center of it, drowning out any joy she might have gained from visiting the past.

Balancing her books on her hip, Quistis slid her id card through the library door and walked inside. She reached for the light switch by habit, but found to her surprise that the lights were already on.

And the library was not empty.

The looming bookshelves cast shadows on the gleaming tops of the partner study tables (recent additions through the Library Committee), and there at one of the circular tables sat Squall, Selphie, Zell and Rinoa, all dressed in their pajamas. All of them looking at her.

It was an ambush.

_It was a trap._

She turned to leave.

A hand on her arm, and she recognized the touch as Zell's before she saw his face. She always forgot how fast he was. "Please, Quisty," he said, "Please, we just want to talk to you."

She looked at his face, and for a moment, it was the same face that had looked beseechingly into hers at the orphanage, the same voicing begging her to stop Seifer teasing him or to come and play a game with them.

She followed Zell to the table, aware the a chair was being pulled out for her and pushed in behind her. She stared at the tabletop, knowing that if she looked up she would see the hard, hateful looks on their faces, and knowing she would not be able to bear them, deserve them though she might.

"Quistis-" began Squall.

"I already know what you're going to say." she said quietly, her heart feeling as if it were being wrenched in two and making speech difficult.

He raised an eyebrow. "You do?"

She balled her hands in front of her. "That...I should have stoppedthat it's my fault."

Squall sat back. "I...no, Quistis, that's not what we-"

But Quistis didn't hear him. "That if I had been faster, or stronger...if I had seen what he was about to do before...he would be alive. He would still be here, with us. If I had cast the-if I could have closed-" The room felt as if it were shrinking, as if they were closing in on her, and it was getting difficult to breathe.

Selphie put a tentative hand on her friend's shoulder, her eyes full of tears. "Quisty, we're not blaming you. It's nobody's-it just-"

Selphie's touch seemed to burn into her shoulder.

_-Selphie, standing at Irvine's headstone, a handful of tissues crumpled in her fist as she leaned heavily into Zell, tears running endlessly down her normally cheerful face- _

"-I could have saved him, but I was too busy looking attoo busy...I should have..."

Zell was gazing worriedly across the table at her, but she was staring at the table with a shaky determination and refused to meet his eyes. "Quisty, it wasn't anybody's-"

_-Zell profiled against the setting sun, holding Selphie up, tears silently streaming down his tattooed cheek, and she watched them from the back of the cemetery and it was her fault, her fault-_

**All my fault-**

Quistis stood suddenly, shaking off Selphie and Zell's hands. "I'm sorry. I have to go...I'm so sorry."

She all but ran out of the room.

Silence fell upon the four remaining friends, and it was Rinoa who finally broke it.

"I can't help but wonder if..." said Rinoa, quietly, speaking up for the first time since Quistis had walked in. "If I wasn't...?" she finished shakily, wringing her hands as tears slipped down her cheeks. "Maybe...I don't think... if I hadnt-"

"You know," said Zell dully, after a minute. "It sounds just as stupid when you say that shit as when Quisty does."

Selphie put her arms around her friend, squeezing her. "Zell's right."

"But Irvi-"

"Irvine would've wanted you to stay," said Selphie, wiping at her eyes. "He'd be yelling at you right now for even thinking about it."

Rinoa managed a shaky smile. "Ithanks, guys," she said as both Zell and Selphie hugged her and Squall gave her a 'see, I told you so' look from across the table.

"Now," said Rinoa, wiping at her eyes with determination. "What can we do about Quistis?"

"Irvy would know," sighed Selphie. "He could always get a laugh out of her."

"Yeah, but she wound up getting pissed as hell at him just as often, though," said Zell. "Remember when he sent her all that lewd poetry for Valentine's last year?"

"He didn't really _send_ it," said Squall. "He more or less super-glued it to her door."

"Oh, those were great!" Selphie laughed, tears still brimming in her eyes. "He spent a whole week thinking those up! How'd that one go? The hair one?"

Zell laughed, too, but his gaze was hard. "There was a young man from Eclaire, who favored a strange kind of hair-"

"He was bald on his head, but not in the bed-"

"-for he had quite the collection down there!" finished Selphie, gasping for air.

Even Squall smiled. "Yeah, I remember she chased him around Garden-"

"-and she pushed him into the fountain, and he dragged her in there with him," finished Rinoa, laughing. "Cid fined them a full day's wages for disturbing the peace, and for setting a bad example."

"But she was laughing," said Selphie, then sighed. "I haven't seen her smile since-"

"Yeah." finished Zell.

"Until Quistis is ready to talk with us," said Squall. "I don't think there's anything we can do."

"Did you see the look on her face tonight?" asked Rinoa. "She acted as if we'd ambushed her."

"Well, we kinda did," said Selphie.

"Yeah, well, what choice did we have? She won't answer anybody's phone calls, won't answer her door, nothin'." Zell yawned, running a hand through his hair. "Well, I suppose we should head off to bed, seeing as the whole reason we're here ran off-"

"Zell, you can't be mad at Quisty-" began Selphie.

Zell shrugged his shoulders. "We all lost him, not just her, but she's too busy playin' martyr t'notice."

"But Quistis feels responsible, Zell, don't you see?" said Rinoa. "She blames herself for what happened."

"Yeah, well, we should be stickin' together," said Zell. "Not fallin' apart."

"At any rate, there's nothing we can do about any of this tonight." Said Squall. "Let's try and get some sleep."

"You're right," said Rinoa.

Selphie and Zell filed out, but Rinoa hesitated.

Squall stood at the door, waiting. "Are you coming?"

She nodded. "I'll be along."

After Squall had gone, Rinoa sat at the edge of the table, watching the moonlight cast wavering shadows on the shelves as the Garden twisted silently through the night sky.

Enough time had passed that they could at least laugh now, remembering him, but she knew that all of them were wondering when the hammer that crushed their chests every time his name was mentioned would finally cease to swing, when they could remember something happy without it hurting just as badly as it helped.

But Quistis...Quistis didn't talk about anything. She never came out of her room, never answered her phone, and went out of her way to make sure that her paths crossed as few people as possible during the day.

She should be laughing with them, crying with them, but instead, she was pulling away, retreating to a place in her grief that none of them could reach.

Rinoa's magic as a Sorceress was like a shadow cast along the edges of her consciousness, imbuing her with knowledge that was neither logical nor concrete, but intuitive, like the infant instinct to hold its breath under water. She knew because the magic knew that life did not stop with death but flowered onward, into places she could neither fathom nor see. She knew in this intuitive way of knowing that Irvine was not gone, but Where or When or Who he had become was beyond the magic's ability to guess, and it did not make her miss him any less, and it would not make the others miss him any less, either. Whatever world Irvine had found now was inconsequential in light of their grief; he was not here, and that was all that mattered.

Where once they had been almost like a family, knit together by laughter and loyalty, now they were a knot of pain. Quistis was hurting in ways that they could neither help nor fully understand, as they were struggling to find a way to exist in a world without him, too.

Zell was right- they had all lost him, of course, but they had lost him each in their own way, and Quistis's way seemed to be more than she could bear.

It was times like these when Rinoa could almost understand Ultimecia...could understand the desire to master time, to destroy those kinks in the matrix of unavoidable progression that caused so much pain to those she loved.

Not to compress time fully, no, but to grasp hold of parts of it, to undo the knots, to change them-

Alone in the library, Rinoa stopped her train of thought with a blink of her dark eyes.

Perhaps they were right, after all-

-that no good could come of a power this great, no matter how well it was intentioned.

…..

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That week, Seifer made a stop at the local library, and after a frustrating hour (and quite a few nasty looks from librarian), found what he was looking for.

**WAR HERO DIES IN TRAGIC EXPLOSION**

_Balamb_. Irvine Kinneas, 22, well known as one of the famous 6 from the Second Sorceress Conflict died Tuesday as a result of injuries sustained in an unfortunate generator malfunction in the sublevels of Balamb Garden while it was in flight over Esthar. A cadet named Gideon Marks, 24, was also killed instantly in the blast.

Quistis Trepe, yet another of the Liberi Fatali, is reported to be in serious but stable condition under the care of Balamb Garden's doctor, Soraya Kadowaki. Cid Kramer, Balamb Garden Headmaster, has been quoted as saying that the mechanical problem due to a malfunction with the Garden's anti-grav generator has been fixed, though "a fine SeeD like Irvine Kinneas can never be replaced, and will be missed by all who knew him."

Irvine Kinneas will be laid to rest at a private ceremony, the details of which have not been released to the public.

A malfunction in the generator and three people who had nothing to do with technical maintenance down there when it happened?

"Bullshit," he muttered, earning him yet another nasty look from the librarian, who from the looks of it was about a hundred years old and wrapped up in the same worn leather that bound the oldest books on the shelves.

"Harpy," he muttered.

Dragging himself from the archives section, he found the library's small section on poetry in the corner, quickly finding the book he was after. Running his finger down the index, he opened the book to the correct page, on which an embossed image of a lovely woman with flowing hair sat in a boat moving down a glassy stream.

"On either side the river lie  
Long fields of barley and of rye,  
That clothe the wold and meet the sky;  
And thro' the field the road runs by  
To many-tower'd Camelot;  
And up and down the people go,  
Gazing where the lilies blow  
Round an island there below,  
The island of Shalott.

Willows whiten, aspens quiver,  
Little breezes dusk and shiver  
Through the wave that runs for ever  
By the island in the river  
Flowing down to Camelot.  
Four grey walls, and four grey towers,  
Overlook a space of flowers,  
And the silent isle imbowers  
The Lady of Shalott."

Seifer raised an eyebrow, and continued reading.

"...Sometimes a troop of damsels glad,  
An abbot on an ambling pad,  
Sometimes a curly shepherd lad,  
Or long-hair'd page in crimson clad  
Goes by to tower'd Camelot;  
And sometimes through the mirror blue  
The knights come riding two and two.  
She hath no loyal Knight and true,  
The Lady of Shallot.

But in her web she still delights  
To weave the mirror's magic sights,  
For often through the silent nights  
A funeral, with plumes and lights  
And music, went to Camelot;  
Or when the Moon was overhead,  
Came two young lovers lately wed.  
"I am half sick of shadows," said  
The Lady of Shallot-"

-and it went on. And on.

By the time Seifer had finished reading, his eyebrows were raised and his curiosity piqued. The entire poem was about a women that was cursed to see the world only in reflections, to weave a tapestry of a mirrored world as she watched her own life go by, alone and lonely. Until one day, she fell in love with a knight of the court, and defied the curse and climbed in a boat that drifted down the river to Camelot. She was dead by the time it got there.

It was depressing as hell.

_The wounded Fisher King. The cursed Lady of Shallot._

He snorted.

They were clearly united in having friends that thought they were a complete fucking mess.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: This damned story was a plot bunny that was supposed to be 4 chapters long. And look what I did. Hell.

Well, hope you all enjoyed this update, anyway.

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To: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

Subject: ...

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Last week I went out and bought a 1200 piece puzzle of the Centra Ruins. I spread it out on the coffee table, made a big cup of cocoa…and managed to get half of the border pieces connected before dumping the entire thing in the trash.

You were right. I hate puzzles.

I can't sleep tonight, so I found myself drifting towards the computer, like a moth to the flame. I suppose I needed an ear, and well, you're the only one I can talk to about this.

I buried a good friend of mine awhile ago. I shouldn't say_ I_ buried my friend…I just stood in the back of the cemetery crowd in the proper black attire and listened as the priest droned on and on and on….and on.

It was a beautiful day. It should have been raining. But it didn't, not a drop- the sun was out and the birds were singing. Across the street, I could hear some children laughing as they chased each other around the park.

My friend would have liked a day like that.

A lot of people got up and spoke- about what a good person my friend was, how many lives they touched, how much they would be missed. While everyone was talking all I could think about was how much I wanted it to rain.

But it didn't.

Not a cloud in the sky.

After the ceremony was over everybody left. But I stayed. I stayed and I stared at the tombstone. There was no body under it- it had been my friend's wish to be cremated, to be scattered near the great Salt Lake where the chocobos still run free. (Do chocobos even live near the Salt Lake, or was that just a song?)

The stone is just a place for people to put flowers, to shed tears, to talk to a rock engraved with a name on it.

I waited and waited.

But it didn't rain. Not one drop.

And it's the same now. Everyone seems to go around their business, and everything looks the same; and it's me that doesn't move, it's me that's changed, and even knowing this, I can't get back to the way things were.

I can't get my friend back, and I can't be the person I was when they were alive.

I want to stand in the middle of the street and scream. The world should have lost a little of its color when they died. But there's no justice in this world, is there? It's the kind of place that kills the lambs, like my friend, and leaves the lions, like me.

What is a funeral for, anyway? Is it supposed to be some kind of consolation? A satisfying conclusion? All of the pretty flowers, the pretty words, the talk of his 'strength of spirit' and the 'warmth of his smile'- when you boil it down it's not enough, it's not nearly enough, and I want my friend back, my living, breathing, laughing friend, not just the memory of what they were. Not some damned stone that doesn't talk back to me.

I know I'm being selfish, and I'm never selfish. I know I'm being unreasonable, and I'm never unreasonable. But the thing is, I don't care- I just want to see my friend again. This work I'm doing, this person I was, it doesn't make sense anymore, and I don't know what to do about it.

I would ask my friend, but…

Why am I telling you all this? I don't know. Maybe it's because I don't have to look you in the face and say these things- to see your disappointment that I'm not holding up the way I'm expected to. That I'm not made of stone, whatever everybody thinks.

Maybe it's because we've never met, or maybe it's because I seem to be more myself with you than I am at any other time.

Maybe both.

I don't want you to say anything. There's nothing you can say. Just…thank you for just listening, wherever…whoever you are. 

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To: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts,com)

Subject:

We were riding through frozen fields

in a wagon at dawn.

A red wing rose in the darkness.

And suddenly a hare ran across the road.

One of us pointed to it with his hand.

That was long ago.

Today neither of them is alive,

Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.

O my love, where are they, where are they going

The flash of a hand, streak of movements, rustle of pebbles.

I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder

- Czeslaw Milosz

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To: Fisher_King (fisher_king33_guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

Subject: Thank you

Its beautiful. Thank you.

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To: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts,com)

Subject: re: Thank you

Glad you liked it.

I'm sorry about your friend.

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To: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

Subject: question

Do you still want to meet?

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To: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts,com)

Subject: re: question

Definitely.

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To: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

Subject: re: re: question

All right. Meet me at the Glass Slipper, ten o clock. Ill be the girl with the Estharian lily in her hair.

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To: Lady Shallot (lady_shallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisher_king33guardianhearts,com)

Subject:

I'll be there.

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A/N: What disaster awaits our protagonists? Knowing S and Q, a big one. Thanks so much for your reviews! I love each and every one.


	24. Chapter 24

A/N: This chapter has been one of the most fun to write thus far. Hopefully its equally as fun to read.

Disclaimer: This chapter particularly borrows heavily from the movie.

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Cel slouched as he walked, his hands jammed in his pockets. From the dark of his hooded jacket, his friend's green eyes seemed to glow like a cat's. And just like a cat, Cel's gaze was filled with disdain. "Remind me AGAIN why I had to come with you?"

Seifer shrugged. "Because I can't bring the people responsible for this mess. I'd never hear the end of it."

"Great. Thanks." grumbled Cel. "Why _are_ you meeting this chick, anyway?"

"Because...she's interesting. She actually watches Kri-ball. She's honest. Shes funny- hell, don't ask me this shit, I don't know." The truth was, he wanted to meet her, have it be a predictable, disappointing disaster, and get on with his life. This picture-perfect shit was getting ridiculous.

He could walk in, meet some eighty-year old grandma masquerading as the perfect woman, go home, and then live a life of peaceful, logical (boring), sanity.

"Exactly how're you supposed to know who she is?"

"She said she'd have an Estharian lily in her hair."

His friend gave a short bark of laughter. "The flower thing? Cute. Well, no, not really, she could be a real fucking dog. It's always either a flower or a book, you notice that, and they're always about seven stone overweight, got a couple of cats, fifty pictures of the cats in all these little scrapbooks with lace glued to the border of the-"

"Will you shut the hell up?" hissed Seifer. The hand-painted sign that hung over the entrance of the Glass Slipper was coming into view, and with each step, his stomach seemed to shrink further against his spine. "It's just a drink. I'm going to have one drink, I'm going to stay ten minutes, and then I'm going to make an excuse and leave. Simple."

He ran a hand through his hair. "Oh fuck, why the hell _am_ I doing this?"

Cel fought a laugh. "Relax. Youre just taking it to the next level. Dating is all about levels with chicks. First level, I take em out for a drink. That works, I take em to the next level, out to dinner. If that works, I take it to the next level, which involves a bed. After that, it seems to always go to the next level, at which time it becomes absolutely necessary for me to leave."

Seifer ran a thumb up and down his forehead, over the old scar tissue. It was a habit that only surfaced when he had a headache, or times like now, when he was irritated. "Just look in the window, would you?"

Cel raised an eyebrow. "Are you serious? You're going to make ME look? Are we in the third grade? Do you want me to pass her a fucking note?"

"Just do it!" he snarled. "Or would you like our coworkers to hear the story about the knock-out bartender you tried to take home that had bigger balls than-"

"All right, all right, Hynedamn, I'm looking, I'm looking. Blind dates make you real fuckin' nasty, y'know that?" Grumbling, his friend cupped his hands around his eyes and peered into the window. "There's a pretty big crowd inside...Oh, I see...and hey, nice!"

"Really?"

"Oh wait, no flower. Wait, I think I see, yep, thats a flower...some waiter guy's blocking my view..." Cel trailed off.

"_And_?" asked Seifer, resisting the urge to put his friend's skull through the window and be done with it.

"...and huh. She's pretty. Wow. Really pretty."

I knew it! thought Seifer, resisting the urge to yell, as it would have made him look even more undignified. As it was, standing outside of a restaurant, afraid to go in by himself and make his friend look in for him, he was looking pretty damned pathetic already. "What does she look like?"

Cel was still peering through the window. "Well...she sorta looks like...she's kinda...well, y'know that Quistis Trepe chick that punched your lights out the other day? She was pretty hot, yeah?"

Seifer rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure, she's a hot fucking pain in the ass. So? Who the _hell_ cares about Quistis Trepe?"

Cel turned back from the window, a strange look on his face. "Well, I can tell you one thing. If you don't like Quistis Trepe, you're _really_ not gonna like this chick."

"And why's that?"

Cel's eyes shifted to the window. "Because...well, for one thing, it IS Quistis Trepe, man."

"What? Get the hell out of my way." Shoving his disgruntled friend aside and peering into the window, Seifer could see a fairly crowded restaurant with people weaving around the room with drinks. Laughter echoed from the inside, women flashed smiles, men followed sappily after.

And sure enough, towards the back where a cluster of little tables sat overlooking the ocean, there was Quistis Trepe sitting all alone in the farthest corner, her hands cupped around a wine glass as she looked around. She was wearing a blue strapless dress that just reached her knees, and a dark grey shawl was wound around her shoulders. Her already long legs looked even longer capped in a pair of pearl-colored heels. Elaborate freshwater pearl earrings swung from her ears, just brushing her shoulders, and her hair had been pinned up behind her head.

And wouldnt you know it: behind her left ear, there was a small white Estharian lily twisted into her hair.

"Oh, shit." Seifer turned to leave.

Cel was still standing by the window. "Wait, whatre you gonna do, just stand her up?"

Seifer shoved his hands into his pockets. "Yeah. Yeah, that's _exactly_ what I'm gonna do."

"Then can I meet her, then?" asked Cel, starting towards the door.

"_Hell _no," said Seifer, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him down the steps.

His friend's face was a mix of amusement and irritation. "So let me get this straight. You want nothing to do with this girl, and you dont want me meeting her, either-"

"Trust me, I'm doing you a favor," muttered Seifer.

"But, you said she was interesting, she was honest, she-"

"I know what I said!" snapped Seifer. "But this woman, she's impossible, she's uptight, she...no. No way in hell. I'm outta here."

"Well, if that's what you're gonna do, can I go home now? Hell." muttered Cel irritably.

"Yeah, get out of here, you've been such a huge fucking help," replied Seifer, ignoring the finger that Cel waved at him as he left.

Of course it was Trepe. Of course. It all made sense now. The lack of a picture, because she was famous as hell and it would probably blow some Trepie's head wide open to find her picture online. All that talk about her childhood, about growing up an orphan, losing a friend, how the fuck had he never noticed it before now?

_Because your head was so far up your ass, moron, you didnt bother to look past the words on the screen or the image in your brain._

He hesitated. He should get the hell out of there. Leave and never talk to her again, online or otherwise. Who the fuck thought that online dating was a good idea, anyway? You thought everything was going great and then you got handed this blindsiding shit- it was as bad as dating in real life!

_No, it was worse._

Minutes passed, however, and though Cel was long gone, Seifer found himself rooted to the spot.

Despite his better instincts, he peered in the window again.

Quistis was now drumming her fingers on the table, and her wine glass was empty. A waitress came to the table, motioning at her wine glass, and after a pause she nodded. Within seconds, Quistis's empty glass was replaced with a full one. Alone again at her table, she traced the rim of her wine glass with her finger, her chin balanced in her other hand.

She drummed her fingers on the table again. She traced imaginary patterns on the greasy gloss of the tabletop.

She checked her phone, no doubt looking at the time.

She smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear.

She blew out her cheeks and drained the rest of her wine.

When the terribly efficient waitress came by again, she hesitated, then smiled at her and nodded. As soon as the waitress had left, however, the smile quickly dropped off her face, and she rested her chin on the palm of her hand, staring listlessly at the table.

"Hell," muttered Seifer, then walked in.

The Glass Slipper had two different faces- one it wore during day, and one it donned by night. During the day, the Slipper ran a decent lunch menu and an excellent oyster bar, and the side docks were open for fishermen bringing in the freshest catch of the day. A choice filet of tuna or a nice net of crabs could earn you a free lunch if you brought it directly to Tamar, the executive chef. He and Cel were regulars there after work in the early mornings- after unloading the docks, they'd trudge in with a shipment of that day's catch and have a couple of beers and stone crabs courtesy of the bartender, Zahira, and nobody ever complained about the stink of sweat and fish that radiated off of them, probably because most of the day customers were fresh off the docks anyway.

At night, table lanterns were lit and spotless white tablecloths were draped over the tables. They plunked someone competent down at the piano and the waiters wore button-down white shirts and carried white towels on their forearms. The bar itself was carved out of a white Centrian marble, and while it looked unremarkable enough during the day, at night, it seemed to glow like an opal in the fluttering dark of the candlelit restaurant.

And there at the bartender was Zahira, blowing him a kiss.

Zahira was gorgeous- olive skin, green eyes, a full, generous mouth and a thigh-high skirt that showed off a pair of great runway legs- you would never guess that Zahira was really a man with an impressive set of balls tucked between her legs. Cel hadn't, years agoat least, not at first. Zahira was a good sport and the incident was now an old joke, but Seifer found it useful occasionally to threaten Cel with the story as the guys on the docks still didn't know about it. Though Seifer had a few friends that liked to play for the other team, Cel was as straight as they came, and the fact that everyone on the boat was already familiar with Zahiras little secret, (the woman had an adams apple the size of a tomato, for fucks sake, great tits aside) was ammunition that would make Cel's life on the docks a veritable hell on earth until the end of time.

"Gonna have a drink with me tonight, sailor?" called Zahira, and any other night Seifer would have taken her up on it. Zahira had a lot of interesting stories, and she played a mean game of Triple Triad.

He was still trying to win back his Behemoth card.

"Not tonight," he said, gesturing towards the tables. "Meeting someone."

"Lucky someone," Zahira winked at him, and turned to another customer.

With the evenings more upscale clientele, Quistis would have blended in perfectly in a sea of skirts and ties, if in fact Quistis Trepe could ever really blend in anywhere. To Seifer, she always stood out- in their childhood, in Garden, and especially now.

He sighed. A man standing in front of a firing squad had more to look forward within the next few minutes than he did.

_This was going to go over like a ton of bricks. _

He plastered on his cockiest grin and sauntered over anyway.

"Why, Quistis Trepe, what a coincidence."

Quistis looked up as he approached, and her expression changed from a light melancholy to a stark horror in a matter of milliseconds.

"Oh, hell," she muttered, and he knew it was the wine talking, because prim and proper and perfect Quistis Trepe never cursed.

_Well, hardly ever._

"And hello to you too," he said, taking a seat at the table.

"No, don't sit down- don't-" she sighed mid-sentence as helped himself to the seat across from her.

"So, what brings you here tonight, Trepe?" he asked, grinning at her. Her lips were shining with some...was that lip gloss? She'd put on lip gloss to meet him?

No, she'd put on lip gloss and that pretty dress to meet Fisher_King. If she'd have known it was him, she would probably have brought a fucking mace with her.

"I...nothing." Her cheeks colored. "Can you leave now, please?"

"Why, waiting for somebody?" he asked.

"Not that it's any of your business, but yes, I am expecting somebody." The freshwater pearl earrings in her ears were knit together by a net of tiny silver chains that shivered when she moved. Pretty. She shook a lock of hair out of her face- the earrings shivered, the silver chains tinkling together like bells. "Now, don't you have something better to do?"

"Can't think of anything," he said. "Is this friend of yours late or something?"

The terribly efficient cocktail waitress had now noticed his arrival. "Can I get you something to drink, Seifer?"

"No! No, thank you, he's not staying-" stammered Quistis.

"Yeah, Liza, bring me a Hynekin." he said, talking over her with an irritating smile on his face.

In response, Quistis took a generous swig of wine.

"Now," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Let's have a look at you. The dress and the pearl earrings? Flower in the hair? Let me guess, you're on a date? And judging by the outfit, you're meeting him for the first time. The skirt is just high enough to speed up the imagination, the shawl is just demure enough to slow it down, it balances out, it's captivating, really. Although, I have to say, you're still a little overdressed for the Glass Slipper."

"You can leave now, you know," she mumbled into her wine glass.

He leaned towards her and spoke in a low voice that would have been conspiratorial if it hadn't been thoroughly laced with sarcasm. "You want it to be like those old black and white films, right? Like those bodice rippers you stash under your pillow, right? The guy walks in, he sees the woman with the flower in her hair, sitting alone at the table, and suddenly, their eyes meet, and it's destiny..." He glanced around. "But where is this mystery suitor? This knight in shining armor?"

"Please," she said, softly, almost pleading with him, "_Please_, just go, I beg you-"

It was her vulnerable expression that did it, that stirred something up inside of him. It always had. He couldn't stand seeing her look that way, not as a little girl crying because the tides came in and destroyed her sand castles, and not now. He wanted her to get angry, to rail at him, because at least then she wouldn't look as if the slightest touch would shatter her completely. The angry Trepe he liked, the one with balls, the one that could cut a man down with her whip or her tongue in a split second.

This Trepe, this wilted, deflated thing in front of him- _this_ Trepe he couldn't stand.

"Please." she said again.

"Fine, he snapped, getting up and sat at the next table with his back to her. "Really, the flower's a nice touch. Nothing says 'desperation' like a wilted flower in your hair."

He could see Quistis's reflection in a decorative mirror in the corner, and if looks could kill, they would have been shoveling dirt over his corpse at that very moment.

Good. Pissed was better than sad and simpering any day of the week.

The door opened, and he saw her glance hopefully at the entrance.

"Is that him?" asked Seifer, chuckling as an old man stumbled in, his cane caught in the door. "That your knight in shining armor?"

There was a definite tick in her jaw now as she slammed down the rest of her wine. Wouldn't take much more to get that temper of hers flaring. Trepe always liked to pretend that she didn't have a temper, that she was serene and civilized, but the truth of it was that she was just as angry and crude as everyone else- it just took a little more to get her there.

But once she got there..._fireworks_.

"That was a nice little interview you gave the other day, by the way," he said. "How did it go, unified efforts with Trabia and Galbadia, working to establish ties with community leaders, some dribble about how Garden's not rotting away from the inside?"

There went that tick in the jaw again. "I'm sure it was only surpassed by YOUR eloquent interview, where you talked about reform and repentance and your desire to lead a quiet life of dignity. Oh, forgive me, that was somebody else, you just chased a the cameraman across your lawn with a baseball bat, spewing obscenities like a Neanderthal on the five o clock news, just like you did with that poor idiot who was last assigned to your case-"

Seifer, furious, got up and sat back down at the table where he could face her. "I'm not a _caveman_, that asshole tried to break down my front door, what the hell would you have-"

"That's not what I meant," she snapped. "I meant that you never-"

Her tirade trailed off when the door opened again, revealing a well-dressed young man. He smiled charmingly...and held the door for a pretty young woman, who rewarded him with a very wet kiss.

Quistis seemed to sink in her chair a little.

"I'm guessing that's not Prince Charming, either. Whoever this dream-date of yours is, he doesn't appear particularly punctual, does he? Or maybe he stood you up?"

And just like that, Trepe went off like a firecracker, eyes shimmering like copper chloride Catherine wheels throwing sparks against the soft candlelight.

"You're so pathetic," she seethed at him, leaning forward in her seat. The candlelight dipped into the crevice of her cleavage, fanning out the soft shadow of each breast, but his attention was on the tension in her body, the raw anger in her voice as she launched her anger across the table like a lance.

"Don't you have something better to do? Isn't some drunk girl half-sprawled across the bar just _dying_ to go home with an ex-war revolutionary? Isn't there someone else here tonight you can beat up on tonight to puff yourself up?" Her fingers curled around the stem of her wine glass like a neck she was aching to throttle. "In the meantime, I'm waiting for someone. I'd appreciate it if you weren't here when he arrived."

He took a generous slug out of the beer that seemed to have arrived without his notice, slamming it down hard enough to produce a volcano of foam out of the bottleneck. "Youre going to give him the same warm reception, then? Going to start out all sweet and innocent and then slice him to ribbons with that razor blade you call a tongue?"

"Of course not," she replied hotly. "The man coming here tonight is intelligent, and thoughtful, and hes kind and hes got the best sense of humor I've ever-"

"But _he's not here_, is he?" Interrupted Seifer, carefully punctuating every word.

The hand that wasn't gripping her drink was balled into a fist, and he could tell she was hovering between tears and tearing him apart. "If he doesnt come, he has a reason, a _good _reason. But I wouldnt expect you to understand anybody like that. Youre just a dried up revolutionary whose only real cause was himself. Youve deluded yourself into thinking that you're some kind of misunderstood hero, looking down your noses at the rest of us, but you're just a failure with an id for a brain and an ego for a heart, and no one will remember you. And maybe no one will remember me, and maybe no one will remember Irvine, either, but _I'll _remember Irvine, and I thought he was great. I thought he was wonderful, and so did a lot of people. Youre...youre nothing but a _bully_."

Silence had finally descended between them, but it was anything but peaceful. Laughter echoed in the background, and somebody was playing the piano again, but it seemed a world away.

"...sounds like my cue to leave," said Seifer quietly, throwing a handful of gil and walking out without another word.

Quistis stayed at the table until close waiting for a guest that never came, ripping her lily to shreds and mulling over the curiously stricken look on Seifer Almasys face as he'd walked out of the bar.

She walked the hour back to Garden with her shoe straps threaded through her fingers, the gravel and sharp prairie grass chewing at her feet, the evening spread out cold and starless above her.

_For a moment there..._

No.

Seifer Almasy didn't hurt.

It was just a trick of the light.


	25. Chapter 25

**There was too much blood. **

"You're going to be fine," she said anyway.

"'m…tired, Quisty…"

"No! Irvine. Stay with me."

**Too much blood.**

_No no no,_ the room was spinning, and she wracked her brain for the thing that would fix this, fix him, stumbling through synapses in the hopes that something, anything-

_-in the case of excessive blood loss, a tourniquet may be applied to temporarily control the flow of venous and arterial circulation. This with that additional application of a Cure or Cure derivative maybe be instrumental in both closing a wound and sustaining limb vitality and function until further medical attention can be given-_

- _Tournaquet the limb, the limb, (what limb) there was no limb, and_ **there was too much blood-**

She shook him a little, her fists in his shirt, his blood coming in warm spurts on her hands and he was looking at her, smiling that same old smile as he gripped her hand in his. Red at the corners of his mouth, and his eyes were becoming unfocused.

"Hey, Quisty…."

**There was too much blood. **

It slicked the floor, smeared his cheek, his duster…it covered her hands, pumped over her knuckles as she tried to seal the skin around his side, seal the wound, there was nothing (too much) to seal, her magic useless, _useless_-

"No! No! You have to stay with me!"

_No, please, please, there _**had**_ to be something, anything-_

**_I'll do anything, pleasenoplease-_**

"No, please, please-" Something hot and wet sliding down her cheeks, the front of her shirt was wet, all wet, warm and growing colder-

_-a class IV Hemorrhage involves loss of greater than 40% of circulating blood volume. The limit of the body's compensation is reached and aggressive resuscitation is required to prevent death-_

His lips were moving.

His grip on her hand fluttered.

"Quisty don't…be afraid," he said, and then there were hands on her hauling her up, voices shouting, and he was still looking at her, but his eyes had lost their focus-

-looking beyond her, looking-

She couldn't leave him, couldn't leave him here, her little brother, her friend-

"No. _No_! Don't go!"

But it was her voice, not his.

His lips had stopped moving.

She didn't want to go, didn't want to let him go, but her hand was slipping-

"Irvine! _Irvine_!"

Quistis sat up in bed, gasping for breath, his name still on her lips.

But he was gone…gone to a place where her words could not reach him.

The knowledge sunk deep, a heavy stone that sank from brain to gut and she resisted the urge to retch, and it was the same pain all over again, the fresh pain of being cleaved from throat to breast, the pain of her heart clenching in her chest fit to burst-

Shiva stirred in her, the cool signature of the guardian blossoming in her mind in response to her elevated heart rate.

_You are troubled, mistress. Your thoughts linger in the past…they linger on him. The boy._

**Yes.**

The cool signature blossomed, and the voice grew louder, making her ears pop. She'd never quite gotten used to that sensation- it was like changing altitude too quickly, the stomach and the equilibrium lurching in tandem.

The Guardian was completely awake, now.

_I could take that memory from you, just as I have taken others…I could take all your memories of that brave boy, and you would no longer burn because of them._

She could feel the frigid spike of Shiva's excitement at the thought of more memories to eat, fresh memories that still carried traces of color and sense.

Quistis was tempted for a moment, and immediately shamed by the desire.

But the shame was not quite enough to override the appeal of the amnesia, the appeal of never knowing, never hurting again.

She could get up in the morning without the heavy ache in her heart, could walk and talk and even smile again-

-_and then there was the thought of Irvine, smiling at the shores of the orphanage, clapping his hands and whooping as the fireworks went off, grinning as he bullied her around the dance floor, twirling her, ignoring her protests-_

_Irvine, tipping his hat-_

_Irvine, his blood pumping between her fingers as she screamed for help, his hand growing slack in hers-_

And she knew what Shiva's offer meant.

It meant nights filled with restful sleep, and days not bogged down by grief.

But to forget that he had died was to forget he had ever lived, too.

**No, Shiva. Leave them.**

_As you wish, mistress, _replied the Guardian Force, and there was disappointment in the cold that lingered in her mind as the ethereal being retreated back to her subconscious, where the creature quietly whittled away at the dead and rotting memories of her past like old wood.

As the pressure of Shiva's presence faded from her temples, Quistis lay back down between the sheets, absently tracing the length of the thick scar from jaw to breast with her fingertips.

Kadowaki had offered to infuse the wound with Curaga as it healed so that it would not mar her skin, but she had refused. For the first time, she understood why Seifer and Squall had kept their scars.

Because if to see the scar, to recall that day reminded her that he was lost, it was also proof that he had lived.

It was her punishment for losing him, and it was not nearly punishment enough.

Tomorrow, she would go to the Headmaster and sign the papers to unjunction Shiva.

She would keep them both, the memory and the wound.

_Irvine, handing her the microphone on the karaoke stage-_

_Irvine, handing her a shot of tequila- _

_Irvine, holding her hair back as she vomited her first shot of tequila-_

_Irvine holding her hand in the water as the dolphins swam in, and all the time, his voice in her ear-_

_"Don't be afraid, Quisty-"_

She would not lose him.

**_Not again._**

…..

…


	26. Chapter 26

To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts, com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

Subject:

Where were you tonight, my friend? I waited for you until close, but you never came. Did something happen? Did you change your mind? I waited and I waited.

I felt so foolish.

And while I was waiting for you, I ran into a man that has made my personal and professional life a veritable hell for, well, almost as long as I can remember. And an amazing thing happened- for the first time in my life, I was able to say precisely what I wanted, at the moment I wanted...and I felt terrible afterward, just as you said I would. And though I cant really believe that anything I said to this person mattered, (to him, I have only ever been a joke, a human punching bag) there was and will never be any excuse to say what I said.

I dont know why you didnt come tonight, my friend, but even if you meant not to come...if we never talk again, I wanted to thank you for, well, everything.

For talking, and for listening.

Goodnight, Fisher_King.


	27. Chapter 27

She was always dressed like his mother in his dreams. She wore the same plain house dress with daisies embroidered into the hem, and her hands were warm and calloused. He knew who she really was, of course, but he was always drawn to her- always walked across the lawn into her open arms like a moth to flame.

She smelled like freesia, like fabric softener-

_Like old blood._

"My little boy," she whispered, embracing him, and here he always braced himself for what was coming. "My brave boy."

Her grip became tight, then, punishing, and he couldn't breathe. And suddenly, her voice changed into that low, dark hiss (whispering in his ear, laughing at him), her fingernails cutting into his exposed arms (racing fire down his bare back)-

"My knight. Kneel for me. Ride for me." She kissed him then, and she was all teeth, and he knew better than to brace, to resist- he let go.

And then his world was pain.

Galbadian soldiers swam though his head, their bodies blackened and blistered by fire-

_"Such a confused little boy.__ Are you going to step forward? Retreat? You_

_have__ to decide."_

**Trabia**** Garden tumbling down in a ball of fire and smoke-**

_"The boy in you is telling you to come. The adult in you is telling you to __back__ off."_

_"You can't make up your mind. You don't know the right answer."_

_"You want help, don't you? You want to be saved from this predicament."_

-**the Liberi Fatali standing before him-**

(brothers and sisters),

-their eyes cold, distant, killer's eyes like his-

(enemies)

_"Come with me to a place of no return. Bid farewell to your childhood."_

**Rajin and Fujin, falling away-**

_"This is reality. No one can help you. So sit back and enjoy the show."_

**-Rinoa, bracing herself against him, crying, and he wanted to tell her to let go, let go, it would be easier, it would hardly hurt, ignoring her cries because he had to move forward, forward-**

-_because__ there was no turning back now-_

"...can't go back now, can't go anywhere-" he heard himself saying.

Her embrace now, crushing, fusing them together (like time, like seconds, **hoursdaysyears**-), splitting his head open with the pain of it as she coiled around him like a constrictor, lashing him with her teeth and her tongue and her beautiful (awful) words-

_"My little boy.__ My brave knight."_

_"My little _**slave**_."_

Seifer woke up with the sheets twisted around his neck, his eyes wide in the dark and shivering from the sweat and cold breeze of the open window. He lay awake, quiet as he stared out the window, waiting for his heart to steady and his breaths to even out. His headache boomed, knots of light blossoming in his vision and making bile rise in his throat, and he turned his head into the pillow, waiting for sleep to come again with all its demons.


	28. Chapter 28

Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts, com)

Subject:

"Last night, I was trapped in an elevator with-"

He quickly hit the delete button.

"I was in a boat and it capsized, drowning all but-"

Delete again.

"My dog died and-"

Cursing, he started over again.

To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts, com)

Subject:

Hey.

I can't tell you what happened to me last night, but I'm really sorry for what happened. But I'm sure that what you said was deserved…even provoked. Everybody says things they don't really mean when they're stressed.

You were expecting a friend, and you met an enemy instead. And it was all my fault.

I'm sorry.

Someday, maybe I'll be able to tell you what happened. But, until then, I'm still here, so talk to me.

…I hope you'll keep talking to me.

Goodnight, Lady Shallot.


	29. Chapter 29

Though there were few career prospects for an ex-SeeD candidate turned traitor who had tried to assist a madwoman hell-bent on compressing time into a singularity, Seifer had surprised himself by not hating his job.

Captain Jack Marek, the owner of the Siren, ran a tight ship and didn't care about his employees' pasts so long as they had half a brain and a decent work ethic. Jack had initially brought Seifer on for the crab season with an endorsement from Cel, but had kept him on the crew as a permanent fixture after apparently liking his performance during the winter.

During the crab season, conditions on the deck were dangerous as hell, and they spent a long, cold month a few miles off the Trabian shore. Sixteen hours of every day was devoted to getting pelted with ice water and ripped at by angry winds while trying to handle over two hundred 800lb pots, each stuffed with pissed off crustaceans that wanted nothing more than to pinch off each of your fingers. The other 8 hours were spent packed tighter than unwashed sardines in the small bunking quarters as they tried to sleep.

By the end of the month, everyone on the ship stank to high heaven and had gotten on each other's last nerves (as well as being sick and tired of got crabs jokes) but the month at sea was where most of the gil was made for the year. With the gil they'd earned from last winter's weigh-in, Seifer had been able to put a down payment on the beach house, enjoy a diet that didn't consist wholly of ramen noodles, and buy a newer motorcycle with decent brakes. With the last bike, he'd had to anticipate his stop about five hundred feet in advance, which had severely compromised his dignity on more than one occasion.

During the summer months in Balamb, Jack abandoned the pots and cast lines for marlin and shark, and the atmosphere on deck was much more relaxed. The crew had clam bakes and light beer on deck, (Jack did not allow hard liquor on the deck, for any reason, ever, though the man was a bonifide alcoholic in his cabin) and even Jack was known to participate occasionally in some of the Triple Triad tournaments.

Captain Jack Marek was a cantankerous old man. He was older than dirt, had a scraggly beard that covered his barrel chest and sagging beer belly, and tended to offend the senses of proper ladies and scare small children when ashore. He had two fingers missing on his left hand and half a finger missing on the right, and the stories as to how he'd gotten the injuries always varied. One week it was a vicious Great White, the next a bar brawl gone bad, and the next, a vengeful hooker named Tandrasta.

Seifer's personal favorite version was Tandrasta.

Jack liked no one except for a miniature poodle with fur the color of dirty snow that he called 'Chum', which was probably the worst name for a dog on a fishing boat in recorded history. Chum came on all voyages and slept in his cabin on a pillow made of phoenix down. Jack had won the poodle in a poker game- it had only one eye and was almost as mean as Jack. How the hell you wound up winning a dog in a poker game eluded Seifer, but there it was.

Playing cards one night at a port near the Centra Ruins, Jack had gotten quite drunk and told Seifer that his name was not, in fact, Jack but Ernst Simonsen. He'd had to change the name when he bought the ship. In his previous life, he had been a tax attorney, and while Ernst Simonsen was a good name for a tax attorney, it was not an appropriate name for a blood-thirsty pirate. Pirates, he said, were almost always named Jack or something equally simple, they always had missing limbs and drank rum, and they were always mean and ill-tempered bastards.

When Seifer informed him that not a whole hell of a lot of self-respecting bloodthirsty pirates owned poodles, Jack shrugged and said that everyone had to be eccentric in one way or another, and that he would feed Seifer's guts to the fish if he ever told a living soul about his real name.

It went without speaking that Seifer liked Captain Jack almost immediately.

Currently, Captain Jack had gone on one of his infamous rum binges, and was listening to opera on the ancient gramophone in the captains quarters. Besides driving everyone insane, the scratchy lyrics blaring over the ship deck meant that everyone was free to goof around until Jack got up and all handed them their asses on a silver platter. It was a time honored tradition that worked out well for everyone.

Some of the crew were milling aimlessly around the ship, while some had gone below to nap or play Triple Triad. Seifer was camped out at the beak of the ship, which was his favorite spot on the deck. It had an unparalleled view, and the stink of fish guts and anise oil wasn't as bad.

Besides that, the dolphins were chasing the ship again, weaving in and out of the water like a needle through stormy blue cloth. The pod crossed paths with the ship from time to time; the bulk of the crew considered them lucky. Not much for superstition himself, Seifer considered them entertainment.

Seifer grinned and leaned over the railing, watching them bob. He recognized one dolphin in particular; the one he called Sora, silver grey with small chunk missing from her dorsal fin. She was his favorite. He picked up a bucket of sardines and tossed a couple into the waves, even though the Captain would have flayed him alive for such a waste of bait.

"So," said Cel, leaning over the railing. "How'd it go the other night with She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named? You stand her up, then?"

"Not exactly," he said.

"What do you mean, 'not exactly'?" scoffed Cel. "You either stood her up or you didn't. It's a yes or no question."

He finally turned to face Cel. "Then I didn't."

His friend rolled his eyes at him. "And?"

"And, what?" asked Seifer, tossing another handful of fish overboard.

Cel looked as if he was considering tossing Seifer the same way as the sardines. "So? Did you introduce yourself? Hump her brains out? Did she kick you in the nuts, what _happened_?"

And icy spray fell over the deck as the ship cut through a particularly large wave, and the two men stepped back for a moment to avoid getting drenched.

"Nah, nothing like that. She thought I was there to make fun of her, got pissed at me, told me to leave. Didn't even enter into her brain that I could've been the guy she put the flower in her hair for."

"So, that's good, right? She thinks this Fisher King guy stood her up, she gets pissed off, she never talks to either one of you again. Well, she sorta has to still talk to you, seeing as she's your caseworker, but you get my drift. Happy ending for everyone, right?"

Seifer shrugged.

Sora broke the surface again on her side, mouth open in a toothy grin as she surfaced. Seifer quickly tossed a sardine into her open mouth. She was clever. Once, when they'd been marooned in the ocean without a decent wind for four hours, he'd seen her weaving through a cluster of iridescent jellyfish; splashing through the water and slapping them with her tail. Playful; still playful in an ocean full of sharks. Maybe that was why she was his favorite.

"But you still like her, don't you?" said Cel sagely, peering at him. "Even knowing who she is?"

Instead of answering, Seifer walked back towards the quarter deck.

"It's another yes or no question, Almasy!" Cel shouted back at his friend.

Without turning around, Seifer flipped him the bird.

Cel shook his head, then chuckled.

_That'd be a 'yes.'_


	30. Chapter 30

_To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)_

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)  
  
**Subject: Dogs**

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Do you ever wonder what goes through a dog's mind? I don't, often, but sometimes when my dog's not sitting there barking at leaves or drinking out of the toilet, I wonder what the hell goes on between his overlarge ears.

When I say 'sit' he sits. When I say 'come' he comes. When I say 'roll over' he goes nuts and humps the couch cushions.

We can't all be perfect, I guess.

Why a dog needs to do all this shit, I don't know, but my friend insists on teaching him what she calls 'basic obedience'. She trains her boyfriend well enough, so I guess training my dog is just a natural extension of her need to control the universe. I personally think my dog should just work on being a dog without all this circus of the stars crap, but my friend seems to enjoy it and the dog seems to enjoy it (the dog enjoys everything so this is not an actual indicator of how fun something actually is), so I leave them both alone.

The point is, I don't think it ever occurs to him to refuse to do this stuff. I tell him what to do and he does it because he likes me. There's no better reason than I can come up with. He doesn't have any pride (and he certainly doesn't have any dignity, see: couch cushions)- he just does whatever you say, whenever you say it.

Well, most of the time. I really don't get the couch cushions thing.

I watch this dog live out his life at the mercy of everybody bigger than he is and wonder why I can't do the same thing, why growing up I could never listen to anything anybody told me to and why I had to do the exact opposite all the time. Maybe because growing up, I didn't think anyone liked me enough to tell me to do the right things. I definitely thought I knew better.

Turns out I was an idiot.

I used to think that blind obedience was overrated, but now I wonder. A life of obedience means never having to think for yourself, never having to plan, and when something goes wrong it's never your fault because hey, 'so-and-so told me to do it.' A life free of guilt and responsibility.

Just for one day, I think I'd like to switch places with the dog. 


	31. Chapter 31

It was a bright, sunny day with only a hint of Fall in the air, so Seifer had let Vagrant run around outside as he cleaned up the house. Not having much in the way of domestic skills, cleaning for Seifer involved shoving stray items further under the furniture and doing the dishes and, having wedged a stray sock under the couch as far as it would go, he was currently tackling the dishes.

The sound of a car made him look up through the kitchen window- it was the dull blue of one of Gardens mission cars and sure enough, a second later, Quistis climbed out of the drivers side, looking tired but professional in yet another business suit.

Vagrant abandoned digging his fifth hole of the day to greet her, tail wagging furiously as he loped up to the car.

Smiling, Quistis reached into her purse and pulled out a small red rubber ball with a flourish. She squeezed it in her fist and the toy made a high-pitched squeak, which in turn made Vagrant's ears go from floppy-happy to excited-alert in less than a second.

Laughing softly at the dog's reaction, Quistis threw the ball across the yard. Vagrant tore after it, trotting back proudly and laying the now spit-slimed ball at her feet. She picked it up and threw it again, and once again the mutt tore after it like a bat out of hell, barking joyously.

Seifer caught himself in a smile.

After chucking the ball a particularly long distance, Quistis made her way to the door. He met her there.

"Hello, Seifer," she said cautiously, no doubt remembering the results of their last encounter.

He was remembering them, too.

"Did you want to come in?" he asked.

She studied him for a moment. He recognized the look: suspicion.

"No, I just came here to give you these. Its a complete deposition of the Garden Tribunals report to the Gaia Treaty Organization concerning your current autonomy and legal status. They mailed it to Garden yesterday, and I thought you might like to have a copy."

"Sure, thanks," he said, taking it from her.

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_As far as he was concerned, the only thing those documents was good for was starting fires, but Quistis didn't need to know that._

"I gave your dog a toy," she said, pointing to Vagrant, who was now waiting at the door and squeaking the ball with gusto. "I hope that's all right. Angelo seems to like that type of toy, so I thought-"

"Yeah, I saw. Thanks. His name's Vagrant, by the way."

"Vagrant," she repeated. "Well, I'll leave you to your day."

He wanted to ask her if she'd be coming back again soon, but bit his tongue. Instead, he went back to the dishes.

She stopped before the car to pet his dog between the ears. "Bye, Vagrant."

The dog dropped the ball and whimpered as she got into the car. Seifer caught Quistis rubbing at her eyes before she started the engine. She looked as tired as he felt.

Vagrant looked after her long after she pulled out of his driveway. Seifer cut himself with a knife hiding in the dishwater before he caught himself doing the same thing.


	32. Chapter 32

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_To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts, com)_

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

**Subject: Loyalty**

The Eve of Souls is coming up. Historically, you'd carve gourds, light bonfires and cast the bones of livestock into the blaze, praying that the paper-thin barrier between the world of the living and the dead only allowed good spirits to pass.

Now, as I understand it, everyone just plays pranks on one another, eats entirely too much candy, and of course, dons plastic and paper masks to ward off evil spirits. It's just as well. I don't have any gourds or livestock bones, and if I started a bonfire at my current residence I believe I'd be evicted, so the most I'll do this year is to eat far too much candy corn and watch my favorite horror movies, which include 'It Came From Dollet' and 'The Squid That Ate Esthar'. I wish there were someone to watch them with me. It's just not as much fun pointing out plot holes, costume malfunctions, and thoroughly unconvincing acting to an empty room.

As for envying the easy-going existence of your dog, well, I can't imagine wanting to entirely emulate a creature that uses its tongue as toilet paper. Besides, obedience is only as good as the master that governs you. And while I am certain your dog is lucky, many aren't. There is nothing worse than knowing something is wrong but doing it anyway for the wrong person, for the wrong reasons.

I don't think there's such a thing as blind obedience. It's either your conscience or (in the case of your dog) your loyalty that wins out in the end. And if your orders are trying, well, you grow to resent your master, but worse, you come to resent yourself. In the end, I think obedience only works if you can never hope to know any better...and which of us has that luxury, really?

Happy Soulstis, Fisher King.


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: still don't like this chapter, but I can only go over it so many times.

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Seifer sat back in his chair, his hands laced behind his head.

It was strange, reading the words on the screen and knowing that Quistis Trepe was behind them. Stranger still was writing to her, knowing it was her on the other end of the monitor, her chin in her hand as she read over his message with no idea whatsoever where or who it came from.

If she knew who it came from, would she write back? He doubted it.

Growing up at the orphanage, Quistis had been a bossy little killjoy. Trepe had pretty much irritated Seifer from childhood on because she went against the natural order of things. She was a complete mess herself, hell, they all were, and she'd been that way since she was a kid; however, unlike the rest of them, she always tried to present an orderly front. She made her bed so tightly (and without being asked) that you could practically bounce a quarter off the comforter, she organized her book collection alphabetically, and her coloring books looked impeccable enough to frame, every crayon stroke color-appropriate and within the line.

Only Quistis could make childhood into a job.

Even back then, he had wanted to tell her even then that life didn't work that way- that the world wasn't inclined towards order, it hurtled towards entropy; in kid-speak, that things fell apart all the time. He knew that as well as anybody and he also knew that when Trepe found it out for herself, it was going to wreck her sad little life. Making her bed, keeping her fingernails clean, following all the rules, she expected that everything would always be wonderful and that somebody would love her- she'd always reminded him of a vase about to shatter in her inevitable disappointment. Her beliefs made her precarious, and her vulnerability made him nervous, which in turn pissed him off that she had any effect on his life whatsoever.

At the orphanage he had knocked over her sandcastles and tuned out her tantrums- better that she was angry at him than crestfallen that the ocean simply scooped up her hours of sand sculpting and dumped it into a wet, shell-laden clump in the blink of an eye.

He had always preferred her tantrums over her tears.

As a teenager, the stick up her ass had only grown longer and more pronounced. Hed had a front row seat as she trained and she taught the subject matter they wanted taught and killed whoever she was assigned to kill- she colored within all their little lines, and those assholes had fired her anyway in the end.

Seifer had understood immediately why they had fired her, and was surprised they hadn't fired her sooner. It wasn't because of her school girl crush on Squall- that sort of trite teenage shit could be ignored, if not understood- it was because Quistis was still tthe kid in the killer. It was because though she had learned to set aside her humanity in order to become one of the best mercenaries Garden had ever seen, she had never quite stopped _longing_ for friendship, for compassion, for understanding, and they couldn't have an Instructor with those kinds of ties to her humanity. What the Powers that Were found unacceptable in their youngest protege was exactly the kind of thing that Seifer hadn't been able to stomach about her, if for different reasons.

What Seifer hated about her was simple: that Trepe was her own worst enemy. She was a Rank A SeeD and one of the few Blue Magic users in the world- she should have had the world by the balls, should have made those ingrate cocksuckers on the Garden Council lick her boots, but instead she put chinks in her own armor; she wanted to belong, she wanted to fit in, to be cared about- most of all, she wanted to be loved, and she let it make her weak, she let what other people thought become her reason for being, when they should have been ants under her heels. She had talent and guts and looks and she wasted them on rules and a prick like Squall Leonhart.

She had been like a rigid icon to him, a (pretty) poster child for the Big Bad Establishment. He'd never thought about her having hobbies, watching old horror films, or having a good sense of humor. He'd never thought about her having regrets, either, or ambitions that had nothing to do with being a mercenary.

The version of Quistis Trepe that he was familiar with had to be in control of everything from her students, to her schedule, to the amount of paperclips in the porcelain apple on her desk. Hell, she probably ironed her underwear. On any given day she was wound up as tight as that damned whip on her hip-

That whip...now that was the perfect metaphor for someone like Quistis- long and lean and coiled tighter than a pit viper about to strike. The whip was a savage weapon, but had only ever seen Quistis go for clean kills- she didn't wield a whip because of the gruesome and personal way it killed. Nor was it because, according to the (hopeful) rumor mill among the (predominantly male) student body, that Trepe had a BDSM set-up in her room, with the whip featuring as the main attraction. With those long legs, pale blue eyes, and that long swath of golden hair, Trepe had all the weapons of a wanton sex goddess, but a dominatrix she was not, and he couldn't picture her clad in leather and using Save the Queen for a glorified riding crop.

Well, he could (and had), but it wouldn't be accurate.

No, someone like Quistis used a whip because of the amount of control involved. There were precious few whip wielders at Garden, and it was because to do any kind of real damage, you had to master it absolutely, otherwise you wound up injuring yourself just as often as an enemy, or inflicting nothing more serious than the battle equivalent of a paper cut and pissing off the thing you were fighting tenfold.

The whip wasn't like a gunblade or a gun, in that it could be guaranteed to take out a sizeable chunk of flesh no matter how stupidly you wielded it- to master a whip took time, a dogged determination, and a flare for perfection. The gunblade took just as much guts and precision to master, true, but to do -any- kind of damage with a whip, you had to know what you were doing.

He'd fucked around with a whip once in the Training Center and nearly taken out his own eye in the process. After that incident, he'd developed a begrudging respect for the weapon; after facing Trepe in battle, he'd developed a healthy fear of it, and a begrudging respect for her.

Even now, whip or no whip, she still managed to get under his skin. She always had.

Now, shed been hurt, and faith in things like rules and institutions was crumbling. She was coming to realize that rules for mercenaries were like rules for anything else- even if you followed them to a T, there was no guarantee of their results. Following the rules of war at best would only guarantee that you would hurt less or live longer- it didn't eliminate the risk, it just hid it better.

No matter how much time had passed, however, whether she was a little kid throwing a tantrum because he'd trampled her sand kingdom or a young woman blackening his eye on the docks of Balamb, it always seemed like she was still that kid building her sandcastles too close to the shore.

Which made him the kid still trying to knock them over, he supposed.

Hell. No matter which way he looked at it, Quistis Trepe was Lady_Shallot, and Lady_Shallot was Quistis Trepe. And no matter how hard he tried now, he couldn't get either one out of his mind.

The edges of his conception of her were beginning to blur- Quistis the Instructor, the Ice Queen, the Perpetual Overacheiver were starting to merge with Lady_Shallot's good qualities, making her, well, _human_. The girl that wrote to him was clever, funny, and a little sarcastic. She liked Kri-ball and hot wings. She was fully aware of the burden of authority, and had her moments of doubt just like anyone else.

He liked Lady Shallot, a lot, in a way that he had never liked anyone. And now, knowing who Lady Shallot really was, those feelings were starting to bleed into his little visits from Quistis. When he saw her on his doorstep now, she wasn't only the human hemorrhoid come to turn Garden's screws, but a human being on an assignment she didn't relish, still reeling from the pain of losing her friend and trying her best to reassemble her life.

It had been easier hating her, framing her as the figurehead of an institution that he'd fought since the day of his admittance. These new feelings were complicated and annoying, but he couldn't shake them off. There was nothing for it- he was starting to like the woman behind the letters.

Damnitall, it meant that he was starting to _like_ Quistis Trepe.

Seifer supposed it was like the story Jack liked to tell of the Gargantuan, the ridiculously huge and supposedly unsinkable ship that had crashed head-on into an equally colossal iceberg many years ago. Seifer was never sure if the story was bullshit or not- his memory for historical facts had never been good.

The way Jack told it, the captain, once he found out that he had charted the course of the ship through a giant cluster of icebergs, had said 'fuck it, let's see what happens.' Of course, what had happened was over 45 dead crew members and a loss of over three million gil worth of lumber, but Seifer understood the captain's sentiments, if not his results.

"Fuck it," muttered Seifer.

_Full steam ahead._


	34. Chapter 34

Fisher_King: Happy as a clam. I hate that phrase.  
Lady_Shallot: Why, because you don't think a bivalve can appreciate good fortune?  
Fisher_King: No, because clams are damned lazy, and I'm jealous as hell.  
Lady_Shallot: Working hard, then?  
Fisher_King: I'm on a business trip.  
Lady_Shallot: And you'd rather be hunkered down in the sand, filtering plankton?  
Fisher_King: ...yes. Yes I would.  
Lady_Shallot: You do realize many organisms in Phylum Mollusca are hermaphroditic, right?  
Fisher_King: Do you have to take the fun out of everything?  
Lady_Shallot: Knowledge takes the fun out of something?  
Fisher_King: Yes.  
Fisher_King: Do you always feel like you have to know everything about everything?  
Lady_Shallot: Well, they do say that knowledge is power.  
Fisher_King: You know what they also say?Fisher_King: That ignorance is bliss.  
Lady_Shallot: Touche.  
Fisher_King: So I guess the real question is, do you want to be happy or powerful?  
Lady_Shallot: You can't be both?

Seifer's fingers hesitated over the keys.

Fisher_King: Not in my experience.


	35. Chapter 35

It was during his second winter on the ship that Seifer had learned to cook- none of the other men could cook for shit and Seifer was getting sick and tired of TV dinners that were always half-frozen. Sucking on a peas-and-potatoes-popsicle didn't hold much appeal when outside, your spit and snot froze to your face in the equivalent of one.

Through trial and error (one of the latters had given the entire crew the runs for two days), Seifer had become an decent chef, and could turn the day's extra catch into something savory and different, no matter how many times they caught it.

Typically, during the summer and fall months, the crew only spent a few days on the water, and the rest of the time, Seifer was free to do what he wanted with the long stretches of time that remained. This month, Seifer only worked two weeks, and he was looking forward to putting in some improvements on the house (namely, a new roof and plumbing that didn't back up every third flush).

He'd never had to cook as a cadet- Garden's cafeteria was more than adequate and he'd always taken higher-maintenance girlfriends like Rinoa out to eat. Now, however, he enjoyed making occasional trips to the farmer's market that opened every morning on the coast and cooking something decent as an alternative to frozen pizza.

The sun was still rising over the docks, and the activity was staring to pick up. Merchants were unloading their carts and people had set up stalls out of the hatchbacks of their trucks. Now, in early fall, boxes of corn, crates filled with ripe tomatoes, zucchinis, and lettuce, and freshly caught fish and crustaceans laid out on beds of ice lined the docks by idling trucks.

Vagrant trotting at his side, Seifer stopped at his favorite vendors' stalls and picked out a pound of clams and mussels each, as well as some tomatoes, parsley, and a loaf of fresh bread from the bakery stand. He'd make his own version of Ciopinno tonight. In addition to Rajin and Fujin, Cel would be coming over with his latest fling, and with any luck, she'd bring a hot friend.

It was a shame that Lady_Shallot couldn't be there, but there was no ignoring that Lady_Shallot was somebody real, and that somebody real happened to be Quistis Trepe.

And inviting Quistis Trepe to a meal at his house was a very, very bad idea that could only end in him losing a lot of blood.


	36. Chapter 36

"_Hello, you have reached the dormitory of Quistis Trepe, Instructor 14. I apologize for not being able to answer your call personally, but if you'd be kind enough to leave your name and your request, I'll return your call as soon as I'm able. Thank you."  
_  
**Beep.**

"Quistis, this is Selphie. Tonight, a bunch of us are going out to eat, then out dancing for...well, for what would have been Irvy's birthday this year. He would have wanted us to have a party like always, I think, instead of sitting around and feeling sad. Cid's canceled all missions today, so everyone will have the evening off. We're leaving Garden at about 1700 hours, and we're splitting up between Squall's car and one of the Garden vans.

Quistis- I- we...we really hope you'll come, okay? I know it would mean...would've meant a lot to him if you were there...and it'd mean a lot to us."


	37. Chapter 37

"What exactly happened with Irvine, anyway?"

His two friends stared at him in silence. Cel and his latest fling, Shia, along with her cute but ditzy friend, had already departed for the evening. The friend had offered to stay and help with dishes, which was as good as guaranteed sex, but Seifer had declined the offer. He just didn't feel like making forced conversation in the morning with someone that had nothing interesting to say. Rajin and Fujin had shared a look at his refusal, and had stayed to help with dishes instead.

At Seifer's question, Fujin had stopped mid-swipe in drying a plate, and Rajin nearly dropped the pot he was scrubbing.

Seifer glared at them. "What, I can't fucking ask now? There's a time window about asking about dead people? Is that it?"

Rajin looked uneasily at him. "It's just, ya know, after everything with the war, we tried to talk to you about what was going on at Garden a couple of times, but you didn't wanna hear any of it, so after awhile we just kinda gave up. You didn't wanna deal with the outside world when you got out of the D-District prison, and after everything, we didn't really wanna make you. And then, that whole thing with Irvine, well…we talked it over, but we didn't think you'd really wanna know. I mean, would you really've gone to the funeral or anything? You always talked like you hated all those guys."

A beat of silence, and then Seifer looked at Fujin. "Well, I'm asking now. Are you gonna tell me, or what?"

Rajin shrugged. "Well, the truth is, nobody really knows what went on in there. Cid updated the anti-grav generators about a year ago; they have their own containment room now that's completely sealed off from the rest of the sub-level. One day, middle of the day, ya know, the emergency system goes off, with the message to evacuate Garden. Seeing as we were about thirty thousand feet up over Trabia at that point, it was a moot point- nobody had anywhere to go, 'cause Cid never thought up an intelligent exit strategy at thirty thousand feet- it wasn't cost effective. Nobody knew what was going on, but, all of a sudden, there was this huge explosion in the sub level, and by the time they pried it open, there was….well, there wasn't much anybody could do."

"I was one of the ones t' get there first." Rajin wrung his hands in his lap. "We had to blow the doors open, ya know, and when we got in there…well…"

"The first generator had blown, and that Gideon Marks guy, well, you coulda filled a doggy bag with what was left of him. And Kinneas wasn't…half of 'em…" Rajin took a deep breath. "Anyway, Quistis got blasted by some shrapnel and she was bleeding pretty bad but she was alive; she was hovering over Irvine when they blew the door down, tryin't heal 'im. And Irvine, well, he just died right there. Nothing anybody could do. They had t' drag her away, from him, ya know. She almost died herself."

Fujin patted Rajin's arm and took over, her normally loud, clipped voice quiet and measured, as it always was with things of great importance.

"After she recovered, Quistis's deposition was sealed: nobody but Cid and Squall know the whole details, although Zell and the rest of them probably know, too. Cid fed something to the press, but there's no way that story checks out. And Quistis, well, she's been like a ghost since the whole thing happened. She doesn't teach her classes anymore, she doesn't come out of her room…it's almost like she died with him."

"I didn't…" said Seifer finally, clearing his throat. "I didn't know. Thanks for telling me."

Long after his friends left, Seifer lay awake in bed, thinking of Quistis's stricken look on the dock, of the scar that climbed beneath her blouse like a creeping vine.

_It was like she died with him._


	38. Chapter 38

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_A/N: this chapter, once again, borrows heavily from YGM._

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_To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts, com)_

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts, com)

Subject:

Before I started talking to you, I knew exactly where my life would end up. I knew what job I would have until I retired, what type of guy I would marry, what people would remember me for. But now, I don't know anything at all. I don't know what I'm supposed to be doing with my life or who I'm supposed to be doing it with.

They've given me time and space at work, given me a job that I guess they thought in some sick way would be easier...but it's not the same. I'm not the same. I think my old friend would say I'm finally too tired to keep up my fronts- that I'm finally becoming who I always was to begin with because Im out of excuses and Im out of energy to keep up the facade.

And maybe my old friend would be right. He was usually right about things like this...about me.

It would have been his birthday today.

The ironic (and perhaps, pathetic) thing is, I think I'm more myself when I talk to you than I am with just about everyone else in my life. Where I work, everybody just knows me as the dependable school marm, the one who gives great advice and who you can always count on to fill in, the overachiever that lives for her job and her friends. And while parts of that are true, the overall image has never fitted me- instead, I've always tried to fit myself into it. I'm to blame for that, of course; instead of breaking out of that mold, Ive always acted just as everybody expected me to, and I'd gotten so good at it that I scarcely knew the difference. Besides, pretending to be someone else is always much easier than being yourself- that way, if somebody rejects you, you know it's not really the real you they're rejecting- does that make any sense at all?

Sitting here, I think about the past few years, about what I used to have, about the kind of person I used to be. Over the past few weeks I've thought about my friend, about how it felt to lose him, and I've come to realize that the person that was able to do the job I did is dead, too. It died with him. I don't believe the things I used to believe...I'm not the same person I was when I believed them.

They always tell you that change is good, that change is the alternative to stagnation, but, in my world, change has only ever meant that something I never wanted to happen has happened anyway.

Sitting here in this empty room, tonight, it feels as if I have lost my good friend all over again, and no one and nothing in the world can make it right.


	39. Chapter 39

A/N: Next chapters should be up soon...reviews are always appreciated!

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The ring of the phone was like vibrating glass shards in his ear drum, and it didn't go away no matter how many pillows he stacked over his head.

Giving up, Seifer emerged and fumbled blindly at his phone, rolling over in his bed and colliding with the dog.

"Fuckizzzit?" he muttered into the receiver.

"Hey, Almasy, man. It's Cel." His friend had to yell over the music.

Seifer rubbed at his eyes, half sitting up. "What the hell are you calling me for at…" He glanced at the clock. "2 in the morning, for? This'd better be good."

"Well, remember that Trepe chick that came to the docks? The one who punched your lights out? The one at the bar?"

"If this is a prank call, Cel, you know I'll kill you."

"Nah, man, she's here. And she's drunk. And I mean really drunk. This guy's been sniffing around her for the last half hour, and I don't think-"

"So call her a cab."

"Shit man, she ain't goin' nowhere, and I got problems of my own, here. That friend of Shia's that wanted in your pants, well, now she's trying t' get in mine, and Shia's pissed as hell. I don't think _adding_ another drunk chick to the equation's going to help."

_Sitting here in this empty room, tonight, it feels as if I have lost my good friend all over again, and no one and nothing in the world can make it right…._

Seifer sighed as he rolled out of bed.

He didn't need this shit.


	40. Chapter 40

a/N: Well, another chapter. I just plain give up on these weird sentence breaks. I already have to copy and re-paste the text because the initial uploading process eats all my punctuation. Hope you all in enjoy, and to all my reviewers from last time, thank you! It's always so wonderful to hear from you!

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Seifer hadn't asked Cel where he was on the phone- he didn't need to. There was only really one place a person could go out and drink to oblivion and grind on the dance floor to their heart's content in Balamb and it was Atlantis, a clapboard shack with sawdust floors and a broken disco ball they turned on during "Disco Wednesdays" that scattered just enough color to induce seizures. He'd gotten enough of that club as a cadet- it was a place that students went to blow off curfew, drink overpriced tequila shots, and dry hump a complete stranger in the dark.

It was pouring rain outside and by the time Seifer arrived, he was drenched. Cursing, he parked his bike underneath the back canopy and walked inside. Seifer received a nod from the bouncer and made his way across the floor, which was laden with soggy streamers and trampled peanut shells. Cel, who was sitting at the bar talking with the bartender, saw Seifer stomp in and gestured towards the corner. Shia and her friend looked at him in surprise.

He scanned the room, looking between clusters of people humping the air and tangles of giggling girls, looking for a familiar blonde tucked within the undulating throng.

He wove through the crowd. Cel had pointed towards the bar, but he didn't see anyone that looked like Quistis. His eyes slid over a girl leaning on the bar- her long hair was pulled over one shoulder, revealing a completely bare back beneath a scooped black top; she had pale shoulders, and a waist that flared out to an impressive ass that was gently swaying in time to the music.

Seifer did a double-take.

It was _Quistis_.

She had her hair down, the trademark glasses were gone, and was wearing a shiny black top over a black mini skirt that stood a good five inches above her knees. She was wearing a pair of knee high boots with a four inch heel that climbed her legs inch by black leather inch. Absently, Seifer wondered if she had mugged a back alley hooker on the way there, because the clothing sure as shit didn't come out of her own closet.

Well, maybe the boots. The woman had a _thing_ about boots.

Taking a long swig of her drink, Quistis crossed those mile long legs and nearly rolled her ankle in the fuck-me boots as her balance wavered. She quickly righted herself, blinked, then took another gulp out of her glass.

Gorgeous AND staggering drunk. An opportunist's wet dream.

And speak of the devil, there was the guy Cel had been talking about- he too was leaning against the bar, running his hand up and down Quistis's arm in a way that for some reason made Seifer want to pop his head off like a daisy.

The man's hand wandered from her arm to her waist. Quistis batted it away, swishing her hand at him as she would an irksome fly. The young man did not seem discouraged, however, and motioned the bartender for another drink.

"C'mon," he said, leaning in towards her, "Let me walk you home."

Quistis, meanwhile, was starting listlessly at the dance floor. "…I can't go back there." Seifer heard her say as he approached.

"Easily solved, princess- you can come home with me." The prick smiled, his hand glancing her collarbone as he brushed back a long lock of her hair.

It took a moment for the idiot to register Seifer' shadow looming over him.

The man's happy expression abated drastically as Seifer seized hold of his arm. "The fuck are you doing, man?" he snarled.

"I'm happy you asked that question," replied Seifer, turning the man around and marching him towards the door. "You're wanting to leave, and I'm assisting you."

"What?"

"You're leaving," replied Seifer, raising his voice above the music.

"The fuck-" snarled the man, digging in his heels. "What're you, her keeper?"  
_  
Good question. What the hell _**was**_ he doing here?_

"She's drunk as shit, man, just wait your turn. There's plenty to go around, if you haven't noticed-"

"You're not understanding me at all, are you? If you bother her again, I'll also be assisting you in the removal of your teeth. All of them."

Using his shirt collar as leverage, Seifer threw the idiot out the door face-first, watching with satisfaction as he crashed into a pair of garbage cans and tumbled (also face-first) into the of mud.

Shaking the rain out of his hair, he walked back to Quistis, who seemed to have forgotten he was there.

"I'll have another drink," she told the bartender. And of course it had to be Chevis working tonight, a girl with big tits and an even bigger mouth. He'd never hear the end of it. He silently blamed Cel for being on a first name basis with all of the hot bartenders in Balamb (all four of him) which meant, by default, they knew who he was, too.

"No, she won't, Chevis," said Seifer. "Get her a water."

Chevis laughed, giving Seifer a wink. "Looks like your knight in shining armor's arrived, girlie."

Quistis brightened immediately. "My knight in shining armor?" She turned, her smile bright. "I… wait, why're **you** here?" she asked as she focused on him, swaying, her expression darkening immediately. He grabbed her arm to steady her.

"Getting you out of here," he replied. "You're drunk as hell."

She yanked back her arm, an action which nearly sent her reeling on her ass again. "I'll take care of myself." she said. Except that she was so drunk, it sounded more like another language. An angry, belligerent language.

"Doesn't look like she wants to be rescued, _Sir_ Almasy," said the bartender.

"Shut up and give me the water, Chevis." The bartender set down a water and slid it towards him, grinning.

"Are you deaf, or just obtuse? I said, I can take care of myself," said Quistis, glaring at him.

"Not tonight, you can't," he replied. "You can barely stand up. You're coming with me."

"Like hell," she replied, wobbling on her high heels as she turned back to the bar. "I'll have another drink. The…one of…the pink one. With the umbrella. Extra cherries."

"No, she won't," he informed the now thoroughly bemused bartender before turning to Quistis. "Drink the water, or you're gonna be sick."

"And just who d'you think you're talking to? You're not th' boss of me," muttered Quistis rebelliously.

Chevis had given up on them both and gone back over to talk to Cel and his entourage, and from the looks of it, they were all laughing at him (with the exception of Shia's bitchy friend, who was glaring daggers in his direction.)

He grit his teeth. "As far as you're concerned, Trepe, tonight I'm the dictator-for-life of your drunk ass. Now drink the water," he said in what he thought was a far more patient tone than she deserved.

"No," she said petulantly, and he was reminded of the little blonde irritant back that the orphanage, trying to boss him around when her head barely reached his shoulders.

"Drink it."

"No!"

"Fucking drink the hynedamned water!" he snarled.  
_  
So much for patience._

She took the glass from him and promptly dashed the contents in his face. He was sopping wet anyway, so he supposed it didn't really matter, but it was more the principle of the thing than anything else. He took a deep breath and counted to three, which the clinical psychiatrist in the D-district prison had suggested might be an effective therapy for controlling his anger issues in the future. He then remembered that he had broken that particular therapist's nose after five minutes of 'intensive therapy' and threw the idea out the window.

Instead, he leveled his best glare at Trepe and spoke clearly and slowly, which was difficult to do when he had to practically shout to be heard over the music.

"Let's go."

"No," she said. "I want to dance."

"Yeah well, I want to sleep," he returned.

"So sleep," she replied irritably. "I don't remember stopping you."

"Look, you're leaving, even if I have to drag your scrawny ass out of here. Now, do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"

And of course with Quistis it could be no other way than the hard way, reflected Seifer as he hauled her out of the club slung over his shoulder, her fists pummeling uselessly at his back and her legs kicking fruitlessly in the air. Fortunately, both the bartender and the bouncer knew him and Cel personally, otherwise he knew for a certainty he would've been stopped long before the door. Practically every eye in the bar was on them and he didn't exactly look like a knight in shining armor when the damsel in distress slung over his shoulder was trying to land a kick at his head.

Cel waved at him, grinning and giving him the thumbs-up sign. Seifer flipped him off, a gesture that allowed Quistis's now free right leg a shot at his skull.

_Fuck. Even drunk, the girl could **kick**.  
_  
His head now booming almost as loudly as the music he wrestled her outside, where he could hear her shouts more clearly. "Put me down, you jackass! Put me down this instant or I'll kill you!" The threat would have had some sting to it, too, if she hadn't been slurring every other word.

Well-oiled killing machine though she was, Seifer thought death threats were a bit rich, especially seeing as she couldn't even stand up straight without the aid of stationary objects. Still, he set her down anyway, watching as she wobbled on her feet a moment before orienting her glare and her temper in his direction. The rain quickly drenched her from head to foot, making her clothing and her hair cling to her skin like tissue paper. She seemed momentarily dazed.

_She's not wearing a bra._

Get a grip.

The cold rain seemed to sober her up a bit, however, because her next tirade was a little clearer.

"Who the hell d'you think you are, anyway, coming in here and acting like I need saving?" she shouted at him, jabbing her finger into his chest. "My bloody knight in shining armor? I can take care of myself! I've been taking care of myself since I was little!" "I didn't ask for your help! I-I don't need anyone's help!" She shouted all this while pointing at a large rock to his left that he guessed was supposed to be him.

Her vision was a little off- along with her balance, her speech, and her concept of direction-

"Just leave me alone!" With that, she turned and staggered down the beach, cursing.

She would have been a cute drunk, if she wasn't also ten times as bossy as she was sober.

_A muzzle, a muzzle, my kingdom for a muzzle_, he thought, reluctantly following after her.

He was glad he'd parked his motorcycle under the awning. There was no way he was getting her on the bike- she'd tumble off and crack her skull open in a heartbeat, and he couldn't steer and hold her up at the same time.

"You're going the wrong way, you moron!" he called after her.

She shouted something that was lost in the waves, but he could make an educated guess as to what it was, seeing as she was also waving her middle finger in the air as she said it.

He never thought he'd see the day when Quistis Trepe would be stumbling drunk, cursing at him and flipping him off while trying to navigate a sandy terrain in four inch fuck-me heels, wearing an outfit that would have been classified as cruel and unusual punishment to anything with a dick, and now that he was, well…

It wasn't quite as funny as it should have been.

"Where the hell are you going?"

She ignored him. She was drenched from head to toe now, her hair hanging in limp, sopping hunks plastered to her face and shoulders. She didn't' seem to notice or care, but kept walking, her arms wobbling as she tried to balance. She finally stopped at the edge of the shore. The four inch heels that had been so becoming on the dance floor were now sinking into the sand.

Swearing, he charged after her. "The fuck do you think you're doing, trying to drown yourself standing up?"

She turned only slightly. "Leave me alone, Seifer." Her voice wavered slightly.

_Oh, fuck no, she wasn't about to start crying, was she? He was going to kill Cel._"Come on," he said, "I'll take you home." He reached for her wrist, trying to steer her as she nearly lurched headfirst into the sand with the sudden change in direction.

"I…no…I don't…I don't want to go back to Garden," she said, resisting.

He laughed. _Garden_? Was she serious? He wasn't even sure they'd taken down the wanted posters for his hide yet. If he brought back a drenched, drunk, and sobbing war hero, they'd shoot him on sight. "I'm not taking you to Garden."

She frowned at him but remained quiet, which gave him the opportunity to take her arm again.

"Why…why are you doing this?" she asked suspiciously.

He rolled his eyes. "Believe me, I have _no_ idea," he replied grouchily.

"…you're not going to leave me here, are you?" There was both annoyance and wonder in her voice.

"No, but I'd damned well _like_ to."

"My hero," she said, and it was impossible to tell if she was being sarcastic or grateful.

"Whatever. Now come on." He said, reaching back for her arm, but she surprised the hell out of him by winding both arms around his neck and he decided right then, as long as he lived, that he would never figure out women. Fire and ice and PMS, that's what they were. One minute they were screeching their heads off like a harpy, trying to kick you in the head, the next they were winding their arms around your neck, pressing their rain-slicked bodies against yours and -

_Wait, what?_

His brain tried sluggishly to process this new turn of events that his body seemed to have accepted without question.

It was an improvement over being kicked in the head, he thought, and before he knew what was happening, she was kissing him.

She'd grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and pulled him down- her lips were cold but the skin beneath her now paper-thin t-shirt was practically on fire. Her tongue flickered against his lips and by instinct or astonishment he opened his mouth, which apparently gave her the opportunity she was looking for, because she quickly invaded it. Drunk as she was, it was a little sloppy, but he couldn't have cared less.

It felt like he was junctioned for the first time again- everything was razor sharp: the patter of the rain against his skull and shoulders, the warm, wet slide of her lips…kissing a woman had never felt this way before- kissing had always been a means to an end, but this, this was-

He could feel the hard lines of her stomach through the now paper-thin shirt, the erratic hammer of her heart beneath her breasts, the cold crush of those wonderful breasts against his chest and for a minute, he kissed her back, scraped her lips with his teeth and running his hand along her neck, his thumb tracing her wet and gleaming cheek as his other hand fisted in her hair. His mind (the world) was spinning and finally snatching hold of her, the feel of her-

_Too rough_, he thought, but she made some soft sound in the back of her throat and dragged her nails down his stomach, sinking them into every inch of skin as she went, every knot of muscle and hell, this was Quistis Trepe that was burning him alive, whose ass was now in his hands as she ground her hips against him, and he was trying to justify throwing her down in the sand and flipping up that stupid scrap some clothing company saw fit to call a skirt and wiping all rational thought from his mind-

"Please," she murmured, her lips brushing his ear. "Please, I don't want to think…just want to forget…"

- and with those words, he remembered himself.

The world came back bitter and wet and miserable, and he could feel the cold rain again pounding on his skull and he realized that anyone could walk out and see them. Years ago, that might have held some appeal, but-

He wasn't a stupid cadet anymore, and if he was honest himself, he didn't want her this way, not drunk and despondent and looking at him as just a way to avoid what she was feeling-

_Fuckitall, he was going to drown Cel in a pool of his own blood._

She was reaching for him again, her hand sliding underneath his shirt, her nails lightly tracing his skin as she bit at his earlobe…hard. Either Quistis had been abducted by succubus aliens and her body possessed, or his suspicions (hopes, dreams, fantasies) were true; she was a hellcat.

"Stop," he said, taking her by the wrists and pushing her back. "_Stop_. You're drunk as shit."

"So?" she asked, pressing herself closer and running her palm over his crotch, digging the heel of her hand into his groin. Her eyes narrowed. "What, you don't want to?"

He grunted and turned his face away from her.

"Trust me, that's **not** it," he said, which of course she already knew, given the location of her hand. She smiled at him again, her hands latching onto his belt buckle and he knew if she got his pants off that it would be all over.

It was only knowing a sober and sane Quistis Trepe would be horrified by her behavior that made him grab her wrists again, but instead of trying to drag her along, this time, he was trying to wrestle her away.

"Come on, I'll take you-"

"Go home yourself," she snapped, jerking her wrists from his grasp and turning away from him.

Seifer rolled his eyes towards the heavens.

_Well, that went well. _

If she was mad now, he could only imagine what she'd be like if she woke up in his bed, naked and sore and hung over as hell. He'd seen her Blue Magic before, been on the receiving end of it, in fact, and was in no hurry to experience Gatling Gun or any variant thereof ever again.

"Hey."

No answer.

"Instructor." Maybe that'd get a rise out of her.

Still no answer.

"_Quistis_."

No answer again. He was completely soaked, and now he had half a hard-on to top it all off. This was like a bad dream.

"What am I doing?" she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself.

"Quistis, come _on_."

When she didn't answer, he grabbed her arm and whirled her around.

"Are you…shit, are you _crying_?" Her tears were indistinguishable from the rain, but she was shaking and hiccupping on top of it, so it was a pretty safe bet.

Oh hell, what was he supposed to do **now**?

"You **LEAVE**. **ME**. **ALONE**!" she shouted, hitting at him. He ignored it. She used to get like this as a kid, used to throw temper tantrums when he got her upset enough to cry. It was strange, it was like she got more pissed that he'd seen her cry than because of anything he'd done to upset her in the first place. She usually hit him next, but for once, it didn't look as if she had the inclination or the energy.

Unfamiliar with comforting but knowing he couldn't just let her stand in the rain and bawl, he drew her to him and held on until whatever was in her leaked out. It was strange- he didn't think he'd ever hugged anyone in his life (well, without any hidden agendas, anyway).

She stopped resisting after a few minutes, sagging in his arms, although to be fair, he thought, she might have simply lost her balance again.

The words, like her tears, had begun pouring out of her.

"It was supposed to be…should have been his birthday today….and why?" she sobbed. "Why? He was my friend…he was …" Here he lost a lot of her words to the combination of hiccups and the fact that her face was smashed in his shoulder. He didn't begin to understand her again until she turned her head to the side. "…and I always knew I wasn't…but if I could make you safe, keep you safe, I thought I could take care of all of you, but none of you would ever let me-"

"Quistis, what the hell are you talking about?"

She turned her face into his shoulder, fist balled in his shirt, her breath warm even though she was shivering. Her cheek was pressed into his chest, which was thoroughly soaked. "Since we were little, I just…I wanted to watch out for you…for all of you…but I couldn't watch out for him, not for anyone, not when it mattered.…why did it have to be Irvine? It should have been me, don't you see…_I wish…I wish it had been **me**!"_

And with that, a sob tore from her throat, and she really did start to cry.

He felt certain that this was the first time she had really cried since it happened, her pain was so raw and unhindered. He could feel it in her, in the way her entire body seemed to tense with the ache of it. She bawled into his shoulder, her tears and snot and Hyne knew what else came out of women when they cried mixing with the rain and her sobs vibrating against his skin. At a loss of what to do or say, he simply let her cry into his coat, glaring up into the rain.

_Seifer reconsidered. He wasn't going to kill Cel. _

_He was going to make him wish he was dead first…and _**then**_ kill him._

While he was at it, he was going to kill Rajin and Fujin, too, and after that, the asshole who invented the internet.

She hiccupped something into his coat, which sounded like "couldn't face them"…whatever that meant.

After an indeterminate amount of time, however, her crying subsided, and he held her out at arm's length to see if she was done. She seemed to be- her hiccups had one and she simply looked miserable, drunk, and soaked.

Quistis looked up into his eyes, her lip trembling, and for a minute, his stomach clenched in anticipation of what she might say.

_Would she rail at him? _

_Try to kiss him again? _

_Hyne forbid, start crying again?_But when she finally opened her mouth, he had to jump back as five pink squirrels, two daiquiris, and what looked like about twenty jello shots came tumbling up from her stomach.

He was _really_ glad she hadn't tried to kiss him.

Seifer tried not to look at the colorful pile of sick, but instead got on the non-ill side of her and tried to hold her hair back as she wretched again, still hiccupping. It was kind of cute…and disgusting…and pathetic. He'd had plenty of hangovers, and plenty of nights spent worshipping the porcelain gods himself, but he'd never seen one so…._colorful_.

After a few minutes, when he was pretty sure she had nothing left to vomit, he took her arm again as she straightened up.

She looked up at him, her heart in her eyes. Her eyes were red, hair a complete mess, and her clothing had become nothing more than glorified tissue paper against her skin.

"I threw up," she informed him needlessly.

He rolled his eyes.

"I know. Come on."

"Where're we going?" she asked, sniffling and swaying on her feet. Apparently crying and throwing up had made her a little more malleable.

"Come on, Lady Shallot," he muttered, scooping her up at the knees.

"What?" she asked, looking at him blearily.

"Nothing. I'll take you home."

"Home," she said, a strange expression on her face as her eyes slid shut. "Oh, good…'ve…never been…_home_ before."

He couldn't look at her just then, but it was just as well- she had passed out.

Sefier started the long trek home, adjusting a now unconscious Quistis every few feet. Light though she was, dead weight was still dead weight. At one point, he had to readjust her over his shoulder, but she didn't wake up.

By the time he got home, it was nearly five in the morning, and he was soaked to the bone.

_This_, he thought, **_this_** was why chivalry was dead.

It had died of pneumonia.


	41. Chapter 41

A/N: Many thanks to all who read and reviewed the last few chapters. You all have no idea how much I appreciate each and every one.

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_The stars were out in the cold evening air, millions of them scattered across the night sky. Quistis and Irvine sat shoulder to shoulder on the train station steps, waiting for their transportation for the next mission._

_"Y'know," said Irvine, his breath a fine mist in the air, "I read somewhere that some of these stars are already burned out, that they died a long time ago, but we can still see 'em."_

_"That's right," replied Quistis, never taking her eyes off the sky. "Light moves very quickly, but the universe is so vast, it takes time for it to reach from very far away."_

_"Wonder if it works the same for people," said Irvine, tipping back his hat to better appreciate the view. "If people can still reach us, y'know, after they're gone."_

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Quistis woke up to the end of the world, and the apocalypse seemed to be occurring in the general vicinity of her temples. Her stomach roiled as she shifted, making the world behind her eyelids spin and lurch along with it.

She went against every instinct in her body and pried an eye open.

Sunlight pierced her amongst an ocean of white sheet. She winced, and made herself crack open her other eye.

As her eyes gradually adjusted to the needle-sharp sunlight, she looked around a room that wasn't hers and realized shortly thereafter that the clothing she was wearing wasn't entirely hers, either. Her bare legs scissored under the sheets, naked skin sliding against the cool cotton.

_Naked…?_

Frowning, she peeked under the blankets. She was dressed in only her underwear and an oversized black t-shirt that, from the look of it, had an unfortunate accident with a bright vermillion can of paint.

The sheets were soft and clean-smelling, and the little room was bright with the stains of late morning- reds and oranges soaked into the wood floor and cast long shadows across the bed. There was a small dresser in the corner and a bedside table that housed a book, a lamp, and a handful of assorted seashells scattered across the surface. There was also a jelly jar filled with lilacs, looking as if it had been placed there recently if the disturbed dust around it was any indication. The window was cracked open- she could smell the ocean.

From the direction of the doorway, she could smell coffee brewing and hear the clatter of pans.

Holding her head, Quistis tottered out of bed and staggered in the direction of the noises and smells. Something warm and wet lashed at her fingers, making her jump and snatch away her hand. She looked down.

"Vagrant."

Seifer's dog. Which meant…

This was Seifer's **house**.

_Last night…_

Atlantis…

The shots…

The beach…

"_Shit_," she muttered.

"Look who decided to join the land of the living," came a voice from further in the kitchen. Moving beyond the wall, Quistis could see Seifer at the stove, busying himself with a pan. "You going to come in, or do you wanna stand in the hallway all morning?"

She took one hand away from her throbbing head as she staggered towards the table, where she leaned heavily against it. "You…you…this is one of your shirts?"

"You were soaking wet and covered in vomit," he replied, not looking up. "So yeah, figured you'd rather wear something clean." He regarded her warily.

"I was…" she trailed off.

His back was to her again. "I didn't look. Scout's honor."

Quistis put her hands over her eyes in embarrassment as much as it was an effort to stop the room from spinning. "Seifer, you were never a boy scout."

"True." He flipped an egg. "Nice tits."

Truthfully, he'd been completely (mostly) a gentleman, if only because she had been drunk, soaked, shivering, and covered in half-digested jello shots, but was fun to tease her anyway. He thought he was owed a little fun out of the situation, at any rate, seeing as last night had been a veritable hell on wheels…or foot.

_Although_, he mused, flipping an egg, _she really did have great breasts._

Quistis spent a minute struggling with the likelihood that he was screwing with her with the possibility he had actually seen her naked, before deciding had bigger things to worry about. Instead, she struggled not to throw up at the smell of egg and butter wafting under her nose. This was a nightmare, a complete nightmare, it had to be. Yes, that was it. In a moment, she'd wake up. When the moment didn't arrive, she pinched herself.

"_Ouch_!"

"You say something?"

"Nothing." Quistis mumbled. "What time is it?"

"Ten o' clock, give or take."

Her night had fragmented after the fourth pink squirrel (or was it the third gin martini?) but she remembered just enough to be horrified at herself.

Last night, the walls of her bedroom seemed to close in on her, but she couldn't bring herself to show up where she knew the others would be, didn't think she could hold up…

….and so what had she done instead? Gone out, gotten completely plastered, and, from the sound of it, made a complete idiot of herself, and then…

Seifer's bed, in only a t-shirt and underwear…had they….?

_What did one say in a situation such as this?_

She braced herself. "Seifer, did I…last night…did we…._you know_…"

"Yes?" Seifer turned from the stove, raising his eyebrows innocently. "What?"

"Seifer Almasy, you know very well what I mean!" she snapped.

"No, I'm afraid I don't. You'll have to be specific. _Very_ specific." He added, crossing his arms.

She glared at him a moment, then mumbled something at the table.

"I'm sorry, you'll have to speak up," said Seifer, struggling to keep a straight face. This was almost making up for the nightmare last night.

_Almost_.

"I **said,** _did we sleep together_!" yelled Quistis, her fists balled and her face as red as an apple. She looked immediately sorry that she'd shouted, and grabbed her head, cursing.

As much fun as messing with her head would have been, even Seifer knew when to draw the line. "Nah. I slept on the couch."

"But-" She gestured to his t-shirt, and before he could stop himself, his eyes flickered down to her bare legs, and the shirt that just barely covered those plain white cotton panties underneath.

That kind of underwear should be illegal, he had decided while undressing her last night. It was worse than a thong. A thong you could brace yourself for. There was no defense against plain white cotton panties with a little fringe of lace along the top, prim and proper and completely decent…and begging to be torn off.

Her face a vibrant shade of pink, Quistis suddenly seemed to notice then that she was standing in the middle of his kitchen half-naked, and quickly yanked down the hem of the t-shirt. "You have some pants? Er, sweatpants…shorts…._something_?" She finished desperately.

"Dresser, bottom left drawer."

Quickly, she padded off to get some.

_Thank Hyne. He wasn't a saint._

By the time he'd carried her home (however light she was, after twenty minutes of walking, anything got heavy), the rain had washed off most of the evidence of her drinking, but he wasn't about to toss her into his bed covered in a film of tears and half-digested jello shots. Instead, he'd pulled them both into the shower after stripping her down, (him still with his pants and her with her underwear on, or whatever virtue she had left would be long gone, and whatever chivalry he had would be dead and buried) and lathering her up with a decent layer of soap, all while trying to imagine Cid Kramer wearing a thong and mud wrestling with Laguna Loire in a pink negligee. Amazingly, she'd remained only minimally conscious through the whole thing, muttering under her breath a garbled string of words that might have belonged to another language.

Despite his best intentions, however, he'd looked at her (he'd sort of had to, washing her), and he could now honestly say that his fantasies of Quistis's body hadn't done her justice. After a four minute shower that may as well have been an eternity in the sixth level of hell, all that had remained to do was towel her off, change her clothing, and pour her into bed, where he supposed she would dry off eventually.

She'd instantly curled into a miserable little ball and fallen asleep as soon as he'd deposited her on the mattress, and for a moment, he'd considered joining her. However, he didn't want to risk the chance of her waking up first and obliterating him with a well-placed spell to the face, (or the lower anatomy) so he'd gone with the safer (if more lumpy) couch option. Vagrant, the traitor, had slept in the bed.

"Can I…do you think I could borrow a pair of shoes?"

"If you can find some that fit, yeah," he called back. Shortly after he heard the plastic snap that was the unmistakable sound of flip-flops, and he knew she'd found his limited shoe supply. He thought about making a comment about her harsh abandonment of the fuck-me boots, but decided that Trepe could probably still cast pretty accurately with a hangover.

He could hear water running and assumed she was washing her face. When she returned to the kitchen, she looked a little more human as she sat in one of the kitchen chairs, burying her face in her hands. His sweatpants pooled at her feet around the too-large sandals, and Hyne knew how she'd gotten the waistband to stay up, because she was significantly smaller around the middle than he was. He briefly entertained the thought of the pants falling down and resisted the urge to slap himself.

"Where'd you get that outfit last night, by the way?"

She glared at him between her fingers.

"No, seriously, was it out of Xu's closet, or what?" he continued, smirking. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"It was a gag gift for my birthday last year, if you must know." She mumbled. "From Rinoa and Selphie."

_Imagine the looks on their faces if they found out it had been put to good use._

Seifer chuckled. Whatever he thought of the Princess and the Messenger Girl, they had great taste in clothes.

Quistis had once again retreated behind her hands.

"Want some eggs?" he asked.

"Ungh," she mumbled between her fingers.

"Bacon?"

She gave what sounded like a wet burp underneath her hand. "…no. Thank you."

"Coffee?"

She groaned. "Don't shout."

He tried not to laugh at her; still, there was a hint of a chuckle in the "Coffee?" he asked a second time, softer.

"…yes, please."

She mustered her courage (and whatever shreds of dignity she hadn't thrown up already), and removed her hands from her face, trying to look him in the eye.

Seifer had set down a mug of hot coffee in front of her, and two aspirin. Wincing, she gulped them down. For a moment, she thought her stomach might throw an open revolt at the invasion of the coffee, but it eventually settled, grumbling.

She refused to sink into the floor just because Seifer Almasy had seen her throw up…and most likely had seen her naked, (who was she kidding, he'd definitely seen her naked) and…

_Oh, Hyne…_

She'd go back to Garden. There, she could gain some perspective and be _properly_ horrified on her own time. What had she been _thinking_?

But that was just it. She hadn't been thinking at all. It had been his birthday yesterday, and she'd just wanted to escape, to forget…

_She could remember his last birthday as if it were yesterday. They'd celebrated at Hops, and they'd all (even Squall, after quite a few shots), taken a turn at riding the mechanical bull. Selphie had bought the most lurid party hats imaginable at a local pawn shop, and she could still see Irvine, clear as day, riding the bull with a giant stuffed Chocobo on his head, grinning, waving-_

_He should have been there, celebrating his birthday last night, and it was her fault…all her fault…_

_She couldn't face them…she wanted to be reckless, to throw caution to the wind, to get rid of the pain and forget, just forget…_

_"_**SQUEAK**!"

Vagrant had dropped his ball excitedly in her lap and was watching her avidly, his dark eyes darting from her to the ball and back again.

And just like that, she was back in Seifer's too-bright kitchen with a headache courtesy of the devil himself, feeling as if she'd dropped her stomach from a twelve story building.

She feinted a throwing of the ball and quickly tucked it under her leg, deflated, where it would squeak no more. The dog ran in the direction of her imaginary throw, excitedly looking under the couch and searching the corners.

Quistis returned her head to her hand after wiping it in her lap. She just wasn't up to a game of 'fetch' this morning.

"We really didn't…" she began again, wanting to be sure. "Nothing happened-"

Seifer raised an eyebrow. "You really don't remember anything about last night?"

"Well, I remember the club, and walking outside, wait, no, you _dragging_ me outside…and then…" she trailed off. "Why?" she asked, her eyes widening. "Did I do something horrible?" 

_You kissed me, _he thought.

"Nah, nothing like that," he replied. "You might want to pick up your bra from Club Atlantis, though- whoa! Hey! I'm kidding! Fuck woman, lighten up! You weren't wearing a bra."

The glare she gave him could have blistered steel.

He grinned. "All your shit's in a plastic bag in the bathroom, although it still smells a little like tequila…"

Quistis sank into her arms, groaning. So much for professional objectivity….a professional working relationship…

…pretty much anything with the word 'professional' in it….

If was official. She was never drinking again. 

Seifer ate his eggs at the counter, watching her out of the corner of his eye, and Quistis drank her coffee in slow, silent sips. After awhile, Seifer left his dish on the floor for Vagrant to clean and went into the bedroom, returning dressed in a pair of ratty jeans and a white t-shirt. The dark wool cap he pulled on made his hair look even longer. He looked…different.

_He might look a little different,_ thought Quistis, _but he was the same nasty boy that had pulled her hair at the orphanage, that had carved up Squall's face at Garden and nearly killed them as Ultimecia's knight-_

_True, but he was also the man that had taken in a stray dog, carried her drunk and raving back to his house, had slept on the couch while she took his bed…_

_Certainly, people changed…she was proof enough of that, wasn't she? _

_Did that mean that everyone had the capacity for change…even someone like Seifer?_

Quistis took another sip of coffee and decided that her head hurt too much for deep thinking.

After another cup of coffee, she no longer felt as if her head would explode. She checked Seifer's wall clock. If it was accurate, it was already noon.

Seifer seemed to notice the time, too. "I'd better get dressed," he said.

"And I'd better leave you to your day," she said, getting up. "Can I, er-" she gestured to the outfit.

"Yeah, go for it." Although, mused Seifer, she would look fetching walking down the street in her former outfit….

"Thanks." She could go back to Garden, make a strong pot of coffee, and then look for a suitable cave to crawl in for the rest of her life.

"You need a ride back?" he asked. "I could take you on the bike on the way to work. Think they'll let me get as far as the gates, anyway."

She didn't meet his eyes. "I-no, thank you, I'll call for a ride." She paused at the door. "Last night…this morning…why are you being so nice to me?"

There were a million replies he could give to that. 

_Because you're the girl behind these letters…._

_Because you've always put everyone else ahead of you, even when we were kids, and no one ever really took care of you..._

_Because I've been an asshole to you for way too long_. _And you didn't deserve it…._

_(…well, _**most**_ of it…)_

_Because…_

He shrugged.

"…feel better, Quistis." 


	42. Chapter 42

"Hello, this is Xu."

_Damn_, thought Quistis. She'd been half-hoping her friend wouldn't answer…although where that would leave her she hadn't bothered to contemplate.

"Xu, it's Quistis. I need an emergency pick up."

It was a credit to the strength of their friendship that after several months of being ignored, Xu sighed and simply said, "…where?"

"At the Seaside Park. And bring a change of uniform with you."

"And you're at the Seaside Park _why_?"

Quistis winced. "Please don't shout."

"I wasn't shouting," said Xu. "But _do_ answer the question, won't you?"

Quistis pressed her forehead against the glass of the phone booth, biting back a groan. "That's classified."

"Uh-huh. Sure it isn't." A pause. "I'll pick you up, on the condition that you have lunch with me at Shelle Café."

"Fine." She'd eat bread and ice cubes and conduct a raid of Xu's purse for more aspirin.

"And Quistis?"

"…what?"

"Does this mean you're rejoining the land of the living?"

"…I suppose it does."

_Inch by awful inch, _she thought.


	43. Chapter 43

Lady_Shallot: I've been thinking

Fisher_King: Dangerous thing, thinking.

Fisher_King: Thinking leads to planning, planning leads to action, and action leads to disaster….

Lady_Shallot: Har. Har.

Fisher_King: So, what were you thinking?

Lady_Shallot: I don't know.

Lady_Shallot: Do you think people can change?

Fisher_King: Not in the way you probably mean it, but yeah, I think people can change.

Lady_Shallot: In what way do you think I mean it?

Fisher_King: I think you probably mean, can a person change who they are? Like in the way of thinking that a person is either good or evil, like they can be boiled down to one thing, one label- they're either heroes or villains. But I don't believe in that way of thinking.

Lady_Shallot: Then what are people, if not good or bad?

Fisher_King: I don't believe in dichotomies- never have. Did the most 'evil' people deemed by history, say, the sorceresses, only live to punish innocent people? Of course not. If you look at history, sorceresses were hunted, persecuted, and lost things and people they loved, too.

Fisher_King: And on the flipside, has everything you've ever wanted _always_ been good? Of course not. We're all selfish sooner or later, but most of us hide it away like a dirty secret. Some people are just more honest and aggressive about it. The truth is that we all want things that either help or hurt people at some point in our lives. Nobody's immune to desire.

Fisher_King: I think the things that people want can change, and that in turn changes how the world sees them. Three years ago, if you had told me that I would want the things I want now, I'd have told you that you were nuts.

Lady_Shallot: And, by your reasoning, how do you think the world sees you?

Fisher_King: I don't care.

Fisher_King: That's the biggest difference.


	44. Chapter 44

A/N: I couldn't find anything online that said when Fujin's birthday was, so for the sake of the plot, let's pretend it takes place in early December.

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"You got any turmeric?" asked Rajin.

"Turmeric? No, why?"

"Eh, gotta make jerk chicken for some work thing for Fu." Rajin stuck his head into the refrigerator.

"Yeah, help yourself to anything that's in there while you're here," said Seifer. "Just don't screw in my bed again. Fu's like my sister, and you, well, you're _you_."

"We'd never do it in your bed, ya know," replied Rajin. "Only on the couch…and that one time on the kitchen floor."

The couch he'd eaten a stray chip off of last night. The floor he walked across barefoot every day.

"I didn't hear that," replied Seifer.

"Which part?"

"Any of it."

As much as he appreciated Rajin watching the dog and the house while he was gone, he was seriously going to have to look into covering everything with plastic slipcovers from now on.

"So, how's it goin' with that website, ya know?" Rajin asked, snickering. "Summon any love interests lately?"

"Tell you what," said Seifer, pulling on an old sweater. "You get to make fun of my love life when Fu gives you your nuts back."

"Hey, I do what I want, when I want!" said Rajin, straightening up. "Fuj doesn't control me!"

Seifer chuckled. "Yeah. Right. Should I call her and tell that?" He picked up the phone.

"No, don't!" said Rajin quickly, holding up his hands.

Realizing what he had just done, he glared at Seifer, who was grinning. "Fuck you, man."

"Hey, don't look at me," replied Seifer, replacing the receiver and dumping a few haphazardly rolled up items of clothing into his duffel bag. "Not my lasso around your dick."

"It's just, well, she thinks I'm out grocery shoppin', ya know. She's got a work party thing in the tech department tomorrow, they've got up some new Garden communication system up n' running, an I'm supposesta make the entrée." At Seifer's chuckle, Rajin glared. "Just wait till it happens to you, ya know."

"What, getting incrementally neutered?"

"No," replied his friend. "Fallin' in love. It's like, suddenly, all that stuff you used to make fun of other people for doesn't seem so bad. Sure, Fuj runs a tight ship, and sure, I hafta make some stupid chicken for this stupid work party that's gonna bore me ta death, but if it all means I get to be with her, then...I don't really care, ya know?"

Seifer stared at him. "Wow."

Rajin smiled, thinking his friend finally understood.

"...she really has turned you into a complete pansy," finished Seifer, chuckling.

"Kiss my ass man," replied Rajin testily, draining the rest of his beer and tossing it into the trash. "So, we still on for dinner next week?"

_That's right_, thought Seifer. _I agreed to cook for Fuj's birthday. _

Between the stupid Guardian Hearts thing, the revelation that Lady_Shallot was actually Quistis Trepe, and the damned dog eating his last good pair of socks, it had been a long, crazy, and stupid couple of weeks. He had completely forgotten about the birthday dinner he and Rajin had planned for Fu.

"Yeah, sure," replied Seifer, pulling on a knit cap. The ocean got cold after dark, and Seifer had learned early to cover every available inch to protect himself from the icy sprays that crashed over the deck at night.

"Can we bring something? Wine, or-"

"Whatever's fine," replied Seifer. "I'll be back in four days. And Rajin?"

"Yeah?"

"Let me know if you need some help."

"With what, the jerk chicken?" his friend asked, looking hopeful.

"No, with finding those balls of yours."

Seifer could hear his friend muttering grouchily all the way to his bike.


	45. Chapter 45

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Lady_Shallot: So, I have this friend that has a problem.

Fisher_King: Ah, the old 'friend who has a problem' premise.

Lady_Shallot: Who says it's a premise?

Fisher_King: Dunno, you seen pretty practical and level-headed. If a friend came to you for advice, I think you'd know what to say, and even if you didn't you wouldn't betray their confidence and ask me what I think they should do.

Fisher_King: _You've_ got a problem, and there's no one around you that you can ask for advice because chances are, they're part of the problem. Either that, or you don't want to admit you need help.

Fisher_King: Chances are, too, that you already know what to do about the problem, but you're too scared to do it.

Lady_Shallot: And I thought I was the mind reader?

Fisher_King: I dabble.

Fisher_King: So, why so chicken?

Lady_Shallot: Haven't you ever been afraid of anything in your life?

Fisher_King: In my experience, the fear of the thing is always worse than what you're actually afraid of.

Lady_Shallot: Always?

Fisher_King: When you're afraid of something, it's because most of the time you're fearing the worst outcome, right?

Lady_Shallot: Well, yes, I suppose so.

Fisher_King: So not only are you already thinking the worst thing that can happen HAS happened, you've also got the fear of it on top of everything.

Fisher_King: Let's say you face whatever it is, and the worst thing happens. You're not any worse off than you were (in your own mind anyway), and you've gotten rid of the fear of it. You can start dealing with it instead of avoiding it.

Fisher_King: So whatever this thing you're afraid of, isn't it better to know if it's really as bad as you think?

Lady_Shallot: So you don't have any regrets, then, always knowing the answers to everything?

Fisher_King: Everyone has regrets. Regrets I can live with. It's wondering I can't stand.

Lady_Shallot: What if you're afraid you can't face the outcome?

Fisher_King: Dunno, you might surprise yourself. But either way, you won't be waiting anymore, will you? 


	46. Chapter 46

"Number 3987-S, Sealed Deposition, Security Release Alpha. Squall Leonhart, Commander, present, Cid Kramer Headmaster present. Deposition by SeeD Quistis Trepe, Instructor no. 14, following the events of Incident SB-15."

"SeeD Trepe, if you would start from the beginning."

"At approximately 1400 hours, Irvine and I had returned from mission 1578-ESE, and we were writing up the mission inventory in the canteen. We'd taken two Class A explosives, but had used other means of infiltration, so we were filling in the Class A logbook for the return of non-detonated explosives when we noticed a discrepancy in the logbook."

"Explain what you mean by 'discrepancy."

"Well, when we made an official count of the stocked materials, the number was inconsistent. Each Class A-type explosive and Guardian Force equipped for any mission must be co-signed by a Rank A SeeD, and there was no corroboration for the missing materials- no documentation, and no secondary signature, and yet when we made the count of the stock, there were materials missing."

"What materials were missing?"

"Amounts of ammonium nitrate, tetryol, potassium chlorate were the things we noted missing, at first."

_Irvine, leaning over the logbook, a frown knitting his features as he ran his finger down the inventory, his eyes flickering up to the shelves with each item he crossed. "But this's shit we'd bind up for a demo mission." _

"How did you proceed ?"

"Gideon is…he was the stockroom supervisor, so all items would have to have been retrieved with his clearance, the items signed for and accounted for. It was Gideon who would have noticed the discrepancies faster than anyone, and yet, his signature was not in the logbook…nor was any other. When we talked to Guave, Gideon had mentioned nothing to him about the missing materials. Irvine inquired where Gideon was, and Guave responded that last he saw him, Gideon was headed to the sub level, mentioning something about greasing the axels on generator 5."

"And you suspected Gideon of wrongdoing then?"

"Not…no, I…not at first. We just wanted to talk to him, to see what was going on. We thought it might have been a last-minute mission, that he simply forgot to update the charts and was planning on doing it when he returned from the generator, but the amounts missing were too…conspicuous to not be concerned. I think, though…that Irvine suspected, even then."

_"You kiddin' me, Quis?" asked Irvine incredulously, pointing at the logbook. "Those amounts are enough t' level an apartment complex. You can't tell me those were for a last minute mission." Irvine had lengthened his already long strides, and she was practically jogging to keep up, a sick feeling in her stomach…not wanting to believe that Gideon, who had been so friendly, always so helpful-_

"And then what happened?"

"When we reached the generator room, Gideon was there, kneeling next to one of the generators. He got up and turned around. He was laughing. He said he should have known somebody would come. He said that he was glad, that it was better to have an audience for this sort of thing. And then I saw the explosives. They were rigged to each one of the generators, strapped to the side with a chem pack strung on approximately every two feet."

"Did he say anything?"

"He said…he said Garden was dead. He said that we had been built for the sole purpose of destroying sorceresses, and now we protected one. He said we were guarding a bomb, that Rinoa was going to destroy us from the inside out. We had forgotten the true purpose of SeeD, he said, and he was going to remind us, remind everyone."

"And I remember standing there, thinking, why didn't we realize this sooner? Gideon was at the forefront of protests when Cid allowed Rinoa into Garden, when Cid argued that here, SeeD could serve as guardians of the peace, rather than take a thus-far innocent woman's life. We knew Gideon lost his family in the conflict with Adel…most of us did. After awhile Gideon got quiet, and we thought he had accepted that- well, that doesn't matter now."

"Irvine was talking to Gideon, and while he was distracted, I put my hand on one of the generators. I cast an ice spell. It was a weak spell, Gideon didn't notice it. The sublevel is always warm- my thought was to get the explosives wet. But then Gideon was pointing the gun at me again, and I had to step away."

_"Don't do this, Gideon." _

_Irvine was standing to her left. The hum of the generators was almost deafening in her ears. They were at what, 30 thousand, 40 thousand feet now? If the generators blew, there was no chance._

_But Gideon was still smiling, his hands balled at his side. "Are you familiar with Utilitarianism, Quistis, Irvine? It's the idea the moral worth of an action is defined solely by its ability to maximize utility or minimize negative utility as summed among sentient beings. It means that the worth of an action is determined by its outcome. Here, a few hundred people will die… and thousands will be saved. Children will be saved from our fate- from growing up without a family…from growing up as killers."_

_But Quistis was only half-listening. Her eyes scanned the room. Five generators, independently strapped…_

"Irvine and I looked at each other, and I knew then…at least, I think…we had the same idea. If we could encase the generators in support magic…we could reduce the damage to a manageable level…perhaps save one or two of the generators, which would allow Garden a slow descent. I had Triple equipped, and was the designated Support caster for Irvine's and my mission…I thought we could redirect the damage, could use the support magic to encase most of the blast. I knew we would have to do it quickly."

_If she had not been solely focused on Gideon, she would have noticed Irvine edging with her, would have noticed the careful way he insinuated himself between her and Gideon._

_"There are other ways-"_

_"Other ways?" sneered Gideon. "You would have us wait. You could have history repeat itself. You would have the world burn for one foolish little girl."_

"I was able to encase four of the five generators. I cast without speaking, but Gideon must have felt some part of the transfer."

"And then? What happened?"

"Gideon shot me. I had only managed to contain four of the five generators."

_"What was that you were trying to do? I told you not to interfere, Quistis," said Gideon, and she noticed the smile had slipped a little from his face. Her arm was numb- blood was running down the inside, hot and wet. Irvine had let out a shout- he started towards her, but Gideon then had the gun trained on him and he put his hands up. Calmly, Irvine edged himself between Gideon and the generators…between Gideon and Quistis…between Quistis and harm._

_Irvine spread his arms. "It's over, Gideon. You're gonna have to get through me now, t'flip that switch. And you know I won't let you. So let's put down the gun now, an' have a talk."_

_"And you think you've got the upper hand, do you?"_

_Irvine gave him a little smile, and Quistis saw Ifrit's fire flash briefly in his eyes. Irvine had a fifteen second summoning time with the GF...it would not be long now. "Let's just say I like my odds. Put the gun down, Gideon- let's talk about this."_

_But the young man shook his head. "I'm afraid, friends, that the time for talking's over."_

"He opened his hand, then, and we saw that he had a remote detonator. And he pressed it."

"And then what happened?"

"…I don't know…"

_Gideon smiling as a plume of flame blossom behind him. She saw Irvine rush towards her felt his hand on her sternum as he shoved her back, hard, shouting something, and then the world became a shuddering red roar. _

"Irvine…he put himself between me and the generator, he…he pushed me down, and then-"

_She felt the floor slam into her elbow, felt something hot jerk across her throat, and for a moment, she blacked out. _

_Awake, awake and the world on fire. Dull pain in her chest, dull pain where the bullet had embedded itself in her shoulder. She opened her eyes and saw boots. _

_Feet were moving aimlessly on the blood slicked floor, kicking and slipping in the attempt to right themselves. _

_Her head was ringing like a bell, and her scream was noiseless as she rose up, pain forgotten, and crawled to his side. _

_His eyes were open, and as she took his left hand he turned his head to look at her. _

_Dazed, his legs…his leg slipped on the blood-splattered floor. His face was bloodless._

_Chunks of Gideon on the wall, black and blistered from the blast. Smoke in her nostrils, the tang of blood in the air._

_"Irvine."_

_She thought she spoke. She was never sure._

_"Hey…Quisty." She had to read his lips above the ringing in her ears. _

_She buried her hands in his bloody duster, her own blood splashing against his chest as she leaned over him, and she cast, and cast, and the world was burning, and her friend was dying, and she could do nothing, nothing, **nothing**-_

_"Quisty…don't be…afraid…"_

"And then..then it was over…and they broke down the door. Gideon was killed instantly, and Irvine was…he was…he was gone."

"This concludes the deposition of Quistis Trepe Number 3987-S, Sealed Deposition regarding Incident SB-15. End transmission."


	47. Chapter 47

As a cadet, Quistis had always tackled the most daunting tasks first. This endeavor was no different, although she found this particular task far more fearsome than facing a T-Rexaur.

Her quarry wasn't particularly difficult to find during this time of the year- it was forcing herself to go that proved to be the most challenging.

"We're going to need more blue streamers, Aly, and Sen, could you put those cds in the corner?"

That familiar, cheerful voice cut through her like a knife.

Quistis took a deep breath before walking into the classroom. Selphie was sitting on top of one of the staff tables, surrounded by heaps of confetti and multi-colored streamers. Clumps of glitter seemed to be glued to her hair. A jc leaned over, pointing to something on a clipboard, and Selphie nodded, gesturing to the back of the room. In just a few weeks, the Winter Festival would be in full swing. It was an event that Selphie planned every year. Why anyone would volunteer to head up such a thankless position, Quistis wasn't sure, but Selphie seemed to enjoy it.

The class bell rang, and everyone quickly stopped what they were doing and headed for their next class. Winter Festival was an optional activity that counted towards a cadet's service hours, though Zell often said Selphie made it seem like purgatory. Actually, Zell's words had been 'sixth circle of hell', just before Selphie had beaten him severely with a glitter stick.

"Selphie, can I talk with you for a moment?" The words seemed to stick in her throat.

If Selphie was surprised, she didn't show it. Then again, they were mercenaries- they made careers out of not being surprised. "Sure, but this is the Winter Festival Planning Committee room. If you're gonna be in here, you have to help. House rules." Selphie's voice had dropped into something uncharacteristically somber as she measured out a loop of streamer before cutting it.

"Of course. What can I do?"

Selphie pointed to a pile of white construction paper. "You can make snowflakes, for starters."

Quistis took a seat across from Selphie and picked up a pair of scissors. Having made the snowflakes for last year's Winter Festival, she was unfortunately familiar with the process.

The two sat in silence for awhile, the sound of scissors sharp in the air. Quistis searched the holes in the construction paper for the right words.

"So, you said you wanted to talk," said Selphie, after awhile.

"Yes, I did," said Quistis, swallowing the lump in her throat.

_Why was this so hard? _

"Selphie- I…I'm sorry."

A pause as Selphie's bright green eyes studied her. "I can't accept your apology, Quisty," replied the brunette. "I _won't_."

Quistis blinked at her, stricken. Setting down her scissors, she prepared to get up from her seat. "Of course not. I'm sorry for bothering you."

The hand on her shoulder stopped her. "-because I can't accept an apology for something that wasn't your fault," said Selphie quietly.

"But it _was_ my fault, Selphie. If I had been faster-"

"Then it would have been your funeral we attended, not Irvine's. I read the written deposition, Quistis."

"That deposition was sealed."

"Not to us."

"All this time…" Quistis stared at her. "But you must have wished...that it wasn't Irvine."

"So what, then, I must've wished it was you?" Selphie shook her head. "I was just glad it wasn't _both_ of you. I know you're a really smart person, Quisty, but that's a really dumb thing to say, you know?" Selphie set down her streamer. "Is that why you came here, after all this time of avoiding us…avoiding me? To apologize for being alive?"

**_Yes_**, thought Quistis, not quite meeting Selphie's gaze.

"Irvine would be really disappointed in you, you know?" said Selphie fiercely. "And so am I. I thought you realized how important you were to all of us."

"Important?" repeated Quistis stupidly.

"Yes, important! I mean, Squall's the leader, but you were just as important. Irvine always used to say that Zell was the comedy, I was the inspiration, Rinoa was the innocence, and that you were the glue that kept us all together."

"And Irvine?" asked Quistis quietly.

"Irvine said he just made the uniform look good."

_That **would** be something Irvine would say_, thought Quistis.

"You and Irvine were really alike, you know. Irvy always said that you were both terrified of people- afraid they'd shut you out, even more afraid they'd let you in."

Quistis frowned. "But Irvine was always so-"

"Fearless, yeah. He said he figured you'd hurt either way, being lonely or being disappointed in people, but at least the other way you got some fun out of it." Selphie looked up at her. "It's been really hard without you, Quisty."

Quistis studied her hands.

"You know," continued Selphie, "I always kinda thought that we'd always be together, like at the orphanage, you know? I thought we'd all grow old together and sit around on a rickety porch someday, drinking iced tea and talking about the good old days. Guess I sorta forgot that we're mercenaries…that we're not supposed to grow old."

_That's okay, Selphie. I forgot, too. We all forgot._

Quistis wiped at her eyes through the guise of running her hand through her hair. "How…how have you been going on all this time, Selphie?"

"Because Irvy would want me to," replied the brunette simply.

"And…that's enough?"

"It has to be…it's all there is," replied her friend. "One day, I know I'll get out of bed because I want to, because I'm excited about the day, that eventually I'll smile just because I'm actually happy, not because I have to paint it on. But for now, it's for him." Selphie shrugged. "That's what it's about, isn't it? We didn't stop loving Irvy when he died…we can't stop living, either, because he wouldn't want us to. Because we love him, we have to keep going." Tears were in Selphie's eyes now, but she was smiling through them.

Silence. And then, "What _did_ make you come back to us, Quisty?"

Quistis smiled. "I suppose...a friend told me something I already knew, but I needed to hear."

"Well, at any rate, I'm glad you came back."

"I'm glad, too, Selphie."

The brunette wiped at her eyes, then straightened up. "Especially because we have to have five hundred paper snowflakes ready for the assembly crew tomorrow!" said Selphie cheerily. "So let's get cutting!"

Quistis sighed and looked at the mountain of construction paper. She probably had this coming.

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Quistis's next stop was as easy to find, but was no easier to approach.

She had barely put her knuckles to the dormitory door when it slid open.

"Rinoa," said Quistis, dropping her hand. "How are you?"

"I...I'm fine, Quistis," stammered the raven-haired girl in her surprise. "I mean, we've been so...how are you?"

"I'm fine. May I come in? I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," said Rinoa, recovering. "Come in, please."

Squall was sitting on the bed, unlacing his boots. Seeing Quistis, he stood. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," replied Quistis, motioning for him to sit back down. Rinoa sat next to him on the bed, and both of them regarded her curiously. "I'd just like to talk to you, if you have a minute."

"We've had a lot of minutes, these past few months," replied Squall coolly.

Rinoa elbowed him. "Squall-"

"No, he's right," said Quistis. "I should have been there for you, for all of you, and I wasn't. I was afraid, I suppose...afraid that you blamed me for what happened."

"We didn't," said Squall.

"But it _was_ my fault," said Quistis quietly.

"No. It wasn't." said Squall, and there was an edge of anger in his voice now. "It was Gideon Mark's fault."

"-but if I had seen what Irvine was about to do, if I had been watching Gideon-" Quistis took a breath. "I suppose some part of me will always wish that it was me instead-"

Here, Rinoa started to say something, but Quistis held up her hand to let her continue. "-but it wasn't. So I suppose it's time I started living the life Irvine allowed me to have, instead of wasting it. So…I guess I'm going to try to do that."

Squall and Rinoa glanced at each other for a moment before focusing back on her.

"Sooooo," said Rinoa slowly, after a long moment of silence had passed, "Does that mean you're going to come out with us again?"

"Yes. Yes, of course I will."

"You'll come and have lunches in Balamb with Selphie and I?"

"Yes."

"Go shopping?"

"Okay."

"You'll help me organize board game night?" asked Rinoa. Rinoa had been trying to implement a board game night within the group for over a year now, which had thus far met with resistance and mild hostility.

"Yes," said Quisits, smiling ruefully. "

She took a deep breath. "Which brings me to the next thing that I wanted to say to you. I want...I want a leave of absence from Garden."

Squall smiled for the first time since she'd entered the room, but it was a rueful turn of the lips. "How," he said, shaking his head, "Did I know you were going to say that?"

Quistis shrugged. "I just need a little time. Away from this place. Not from all of you, just…away from here."

"Take what you need," said Squall. "We'll be here."

"Just as long as we have our Quistis back!" added Rinoa.

Seeing them sitting there, smiling at her, Quistis found she wanted to hug them.

So she did, and damn the consequences.

Because he was closer, she hugged Squall first, and when Squall hugged her back, there was a definite force behind it that surprised her. Rinoa laughed and threw her arms around them both.

Quistis lost track of how long they stood there, but it didn't matter.

_Three down, one to go._

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"So?" Zell regarded her suspiciously, not touching the plateful of hot dogs in front of him. "What's all this anyway, Quisty? The meeting, the hot dogs-"

Quistis studied her hands. "I suppose I wanted to apologize-"

"Not this again!" The martial artist folded his arms. "If you're gonna say sorry for Irvine, I'm not gonna accept it," he said fiercely. "It's bullshit, you feeling like it was all your fault."

"No...I wanted to apologize for not being there for all of you, afterward. I should have been."

"Yeah, you should've," said Zell. "We could of helped each other. We could have told you how silly you were being, blaming yourself, and we could've missed him together. Instead, it was like we lost you both, you know?"

"I know...I'm sorry."

"Irvine wouldn't of wanted you to beat yourself up-"

"I know."

"-he would've wanted you to get on with your life, have some fun-"

"I _know_!" said Quistis, and her voice had sharpened into a near-shout.

Zell frowned at her. "Well, if you already know, why're you here, talking to me? Why've you been avoiding us these last couple a' months, and what's all this about?"

"I suppose...well, I was hoping we could be friends again." said Quistis, studying the tabletop.

The fiery look in Zell's eyes faded, and his shoulders relaxed. "We never _stopped_ bein' friends, Quisty," he said, looking a little sad.

She looked up. "So you'll accept my apology?" she asked.

A little of Zell's usual exuberance returned. "Yeah, for bein' a martyr and a hermit these past couple of months, I'll accept your apology...IF you sit and eat some of these hot dogs with me."

She curled her lip. "Zell do you even know what hot dogs are made of?"

"Ah-ah!" said her friend, wagging a finger at her. "Those are the conditions of the apology. The terms of your surrender and your return to civil society. Well, maybe not civil. _Our_ society."

Fighting a smile, Quistis held out her hand. "Nothing for it, then. Pass the ketchup packets. All of them."

Zell did and took a large bite of his hot dog, closing his eyes in bliss. "Bway, hamember fen firvine angme shole all bose gotdogs fom da fuappie gabnet?"

Having grown used to communicating with Zell when his mouth was full, Quistis nodded. "I remember. You almost got yourselves a lifetime ban from the cafeteria."

"Neffer pooved nuffink," said Zell.

Quistis took a small nibble of her hot dog, trying to stamp out the 'meat filler' mantra in her head. "Because you blamed it all on poor Angelo, who got the lifetime ban instead."

Zell winced, and Quistis knew he was remembering the Wrath of Rinoa, who had cast Float on the pair of them so severely that they'd been rolling around on the ceiling for nearly three hours.

Quistis felt a laugh building. "Squall made you scrub the ceilings while you were up there, if memory serves."

"Yeah," said Zell, finally swallowing his overlarge bite. "Some help you guys were, taking pictures."

"Zell," said Quistis, "There was no way anyone could witness something that ridiculous and NOT take pictures. Besides, you took pictures of Irvine and me in the fountain."

"I was simply documenting the event. Garden's ordering department needs to know that our uniform shirts become transparent when soaked with water, Quistis. That's valuable intelligence, and you always said, in class, that we should document any important findings in the field to the best of our ability."

Quistis glared at him. "Zell, you sold those pictures on the G-bay."

"Well, yeah. Did you know what those crazy Trepies of yours'll pay for that kind of thing?"

She kicked him under the table in response. Though irritated at the thought of every Trepie now owning a personal copy of her soaked to the bone sitting in a fountain with her skirt hiked nearly to her waist, the sound of Zell's accompanying laughter was almost worth the humiliation.

_Almost_.

She kicked him again for good measure.

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To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

Re:

You were right. It's better to know.


	48. Chapter 48

To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)  
From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)  
Subject: nostalgia

You know, sometimes I miss being afraid. Not the kind of vacate-your-bowels, sweat-soaked-shirt brand of fear, but the kind of nervous, jittery tingle that creeps up and down your spine and crawls along your skin. And not the kind of fear we walked about last time, either, the kind thats more dread than nerves.

Im talking about the kind of thrill you used to feel lying awake and dreaming up monsters under your bed that would climb up the foot of your mattress and eat your toes...the kind of heart-pounding feeling you got watching the a movie you werent supposed to be watching where a girl's in the shower and she's too busy soaping up to see the maniac behind the curtain, holding a knife to carve her up into a pretty piece of meat.

Long ago, I figured out there weren't any monsters under the bed when I shoved my foster-brother under and his neck came back with his annoying little head still attached. I know that the girl's just a bad actress trying to waste five minutes of screen time being in love with the hot water nozzle and that the knife behind the curtain is made of plastic. My dog's more scared of his own tail than I am of horror flicks.

I guess I just miss believing in that kind of thing- I miss -not- having the knowledge that there are way worse things out there than monsters under your bed. Or maybe I just miss believing in monsters (pretend monsters, not damned Funguars or shitty Grats) because monsters were tied to fairies and castles in the sky, and when I stopped believing in one, I had to stop believing in all of them.

Stupid, huh?


	49. Chapter 49

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To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)  
From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)  
Re: re: nostalgia

_There once was a man who suffered from a terrible grief, for he had lost everything in a devastating flood. His possessions, his home, and everyone he loved had perished in the rushing waters. In his misery, he journeyed to the top of a mountain, where it was said a wise shaman lived that could grant wishes. The grieving man climbed the mountain inch by excruciating inch, his sadness paining him as if he had been pierced with a thousand poisoned arrows. The only thing that kept him going was the promise of an end to his misery. If the shaman cannot help me, thought the man, at least I have the comfort of pitching myself from the top of this mountain, and leaving this world forever._

When he reached the top of the mountain, the wise shaman was waiting.

"I am in terrible agony," said the man. "They told me you could heal my pain."

"Perhaps," said the shaman. "But be warned, traveler, that all things have their price."

"There could be no greater agony than this," said the man. "I will pay whatever price you see fit."

"Very well. What ails you?" asked the Shaman.

"Everything that ever gave my life meaning or pleasure is gone," said the man. "Now I am an empty shell. Please, wise shaman, if you are as merciful and powerful as they say, take my pain away. I do not wish to ever feel sadness again."

"Sadness is a gift." said the Shaman.

"No. It is a curse." replied the man. "The most terrible of curses."

"It is true that I can take away your pain," said the Shaman. "But everything has its price. To take your sadness, I must take the source of it. I must take your memories of your wife, your children, your home- without these to grieve for, you shall forget your sadness and may be glad again."

"Anything, anything," said the man in his misery. "Take everything. I cannot bear it any longer."

And so the shaman waved his hand, and the man forgot his wife, his children, and his home.

"It is done?" asked the man, feeling as if a terrible weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"It is," said the shaman.

And the shaman was as good as his word. While the man was aware that he had forgotten things that caused him great pain, he could not remember what they were. His care was eased.

And with the weight gone from his heart, the man climbed down the mountain, and built a new life.

But his happiness did not last. He found new people and experiences that brought him joy; however, the moment they brought him sorrow, they fled his memory.

When the man's dog disobeyed him, he forgot he owned it, and the animal eventually ran away. When the man's crops spoiled, he forgot he the fields. When his new wife disappointed him, he forgot her, too. So it was true that he retained no sadness, but equally true that he gained only the most temporary of joys.

The man spent the rest of his life wandering from disappointment to disappointment, and he died neither happy nor sad...but truly alone.

When I was younger, I thought the morale of the story was to be brave, to endure, because the alternative was so much worse. But now, I think perhaps the idea behind the tale was that joy and sorrow cannot exist without the other, that to be happy, to love, to know joy, we must be willing to eventually pay in despair. How sad we are, I suppose, is a validation of how wonderful things used to be. In that way, I suppose the shaman in the story was right- it is a gift.

Grief is a funny thing- not in the comical idea, but in the strangest sense. It wounds like no physical injury, and heals unnaturally. And it always leaves a scar, even if we can't see it.

As a child, I once burned my hand badly- it was a second degree burn that blistered my skin into a swollen red welt. I was experimenting with fire variants at the time, and I'm embarrassed to say that I still don't have a full command of the magic. I remember lying awake at night with the agony of it, twisting and turning and trying to master the pain. In the weeks that followed, I was acutely aware of both its presence and its healing- of the burn, the sting, and, later, the infuriating itch as the old skin sloughed away. If given the choice between physical or emotional agony, I would choose to burn my hand a thousand times over- once the skin scarred, I was assured that it would not reopen- there is a logical progression to white blood cells, to cell regeneration...there is a method to physical healing.

Grief is much more subtle.

The first day after I lost my friend, I could not pull myself out of bed. The second and third days, I had no appetite. The fourth and fifth, I didn't want to talk with anyone- I wanted to sit and stare at the ceiling and let the emptiness do laps inside of me.

I can't remember eating my first meal, taking my first step away from the bed, or the things I said when my voice returned to me, but I know I left the bed, I'm certain I ate at some point, and I know I must have spoken to others. Grief is similar in the physical sense that we push through it as we push through physical agony- that we force ourselves out of bed, put one foot in front of the other, and eat food that tastes like nothing at all in the hopes that time will dilute the pain of the wound, will put color and light back into the world if we can only stand this colorless, tasteless hell long enough.

Grief lightens in increments we don't notice, and lifts in ways we don't understand. Just the other day, I laughed. I ate a hot dog and tasted it (perhaps unfortunately so). I remembered my friend and I smiled. The wound hasn't healed, in the sense that we understand healing, not really- I miss my friend as badly today as I did the first day that he was gone, but I can bear it easier. Its a burden we learn to carry, I suppose. Does that make any sense?

Probably not.

I find I don't much care for fables now, anyway- as a child, they gave the impression that adults had the world figured out- that there was right and wrong and black and white when in reality, the world is a mess and nobody has it figured out at all. Not all dragons die if you slay them. Doing the right thing can sometimes turn out worse than if you did nothing at all. Geese don't lay golden eggs- they're noisy, unpleasant birds that don't enjoy having their nests disturbed. And happily ever after was just a way to get out of writing a woman's fall from maidenhood and her eventual surrender into bad ankles and crow's feet.

And, of course, the hero doesn't live forever.

Still, like you said...sometimes I miss believing.


	50. Chapter 50

A/N: This chapter was equal parts fun and frustration to write. There is also a scene that borrows heavily from YGM (do I really have to say that anymore at this point in the story?) ANYway, this chapter contains a point I've always differed on with a lot of other authors. Cliché or not, I've always been of the opinion that Seifer did not have a good childhood growing up before he was transplanted to Edea's. I know a lot of other people disagree, and very convincingly so- I have seen it written well both ways by other writers. This is only my _opinion_. Also, couldn't forget to write the all-too clichéd 'healing scene' that seems inevitable in S/Q fanfiction. But then, not all clichés are bad, right? Hopefully this is a good one. Many, many thanks to those of you who take the time to review- it's really wonderful to hear feedback from you, and I appreciate you taking the time to tell me if you're enjoying/not enjoying the fic. To everyone still reading, many thanks, and I hope you enjoy! We're nearing the end!

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Quistis remembered when she, Selphie and Xu had taken Rinoa out for her Bachelorette party to the Tequila Hook, a rickety old bar that sat along the coast. Upon Irvine's death the wedding had been put on hold, but back then they'd been happy and anticipating the big day.

They'd done the typical bachelorette party things: worn ridiculous paper hats and drank their cocktails with big plastic phallic straws (courtesy of Selphie), played silly party games, and even hired a stripper named Guave; this was Xu's doing- (the stripper was an old flame of Xu's and she got him cheap, although Guave was dressed as a doctor and insisted upon being called Dr. Love all night, and the medical innuendo did get a little tiresome after awhile.) A few of Rinoa's old childhood friends had come along as well, although they seemed a little nervous being surrounded by a group of female mercenaries...particularly one as exuberant as Selphie, and had ducked out early, leaving Quistis, Xu, Selphie and Rinoa to close down the bar, which suited them fine. Quistis had been a little surprised that Xu had accepted Rinoa's invitation, but then, her friend had never turned down an opportunity to drink tequila that she could recall in living memory.

In the spirit of the party (or perhaps in the spirit of spite, as Xu and Rinoa had never quite seen planet to planet with one another, much less eye to eye), Xu had gotten Rinoa completely and utterly annihilated. Not surprisingly, Rinoa was in intoxication as she was in sobriety; the pretty young woman had been an amusing, enthusiastic, and happy drunk. Xu, particularly, had enjoyed pumping her for information, much to Quistis's horror as the conversation turned (inevitably) to matters of a sexual nature, which Rinoa was only too happy to indulge.

"And what about that old flame of yours, one Mr. Almasy?" asked Xu, after Rinoa had finished the many merits of Squall Leonhart, sex god. Quistis's stomach still hadn't quite recovered.

"Oh, Seifer," she said, giggling. "He was so strong, and he had these huge hands that could...well, you know..." She hiccupped.

"Could what, exactly?" asked Xu wickedly. Selphie also leaned in, grinning.

"We don't want to know." said Quistis quickly.

Xu rolled her eyes. "Oh please, Quistis, don't tell me you never fantasized about getting Almasy under that whip of yours?"

It was true that Quistis had often fantasized about taking her whip to Seifer, but it had mainly been around his throat with the intention of rendering him unconscious.

True, Seifer was handsome, athletic, and confident-

...and then he opened his mouth and ruined everything.

All right, so she might have had one or two fantasies about Seifer involving a whip, and a gag, and a blindfold...

_…heavy on the gag…._

Quistis drained the rest of her drink.

Xu continued. "God knows that boy could have used a good beating...and you could have used a nice, hard fu-"

Quistis aimed a kick at her friend under the table and wound up smashing her foot into the table leg instead.

Eyes watering as her foot throbbed, Quistis had resigned herself to enduring the many sexual graces of Seifer Almasy, and quickly ordered another gin and tonic in preparation.

"Well," giggled Rinoa, her cheeks flushed with her fifth shot of tequila as she rolled the glass between her fingers. "He just had so much confidence, so much drive with everything he did, it was really a turn on, you know? Plus, it didn't hurt that he had a really nice-"

Quistis threw back her head and downed her new drink in three successive gulps, and the rest of Rinoa's sentence was blessedly drown out by the resulting ringing in her ears.

"-but don't tell Squall I said that!" Rinoa finished, laughing. "Those two are so weird...there's like this constant competition between them over absolutely everything, even though Seifer's not at Garden anymore. You even bring up Seifer's name and he gets all bent out of shape..."

Xu's dark eyes glittered. "Oh, don't worry Princess, your secret's safe with us."

Selphie sucked down last of her grasshopper with a loud slurping sound. What was that, wondered Quistis, six, eight, drinks for Selphie? Where did she put them? Did the woman have a hollow leg for liquor as well as for food? "What about you, Quisty? Let's hear all about the famous Tian!" All eyes at the table uncomfortably swiveled to her.

Her last relationship had been a good match in the rationale way of thinking: both of them were practical, responsible, devoted to their jobs...and the whole thing had been as lukewarm as a child's paddling pool.

Tian's idea of romance was perfunctory, to say nothing of his idea of more intimate matters, and the two had parted ways amicably enough when they realized there was absolutely no chemistry between them.

Xu and Irvine, both under the impression that Tian had ended the affair by relocating to Trabia, said that Tian was a moron, but Quistis privately thought the fault lay with her. Tian was dedicated, driven, a model soldier and a perfect gentleman. How could the right guy be so...well, _wrong_, when it came down to it?

So when Selphie had asked about Tian, she had smiled and said, "Selphie, wasn't it Irvine last month that got locked out of his dorm room wearing only a pair of socks?" and ordered the girls another round of drinks, effectively changing the subject.

(Fortunately for Irvine, he had also been wearing his hat, and had been able to direct the hat to better use as he made a beeline for his dormitory.)

Xu had shot her a look, but she had thankfully let it drop.

Grinning, Selphie had cheerfully launched into the story that had earned Irvine the name 'Irvine 'Full Moon' Kinneas' for a solid two weeks until Irvine threatened to see how far he could cram Zell's beloved T-board into a randomly-chosen orifice.

Quistis wasn't sure what made her think of the story now as she took her change from the clerk behind the counter at Jerri's bakery, but then, she was getting more and more used to the wanderings her brain seemed to insist on taking her on as of late.

This morning was a perfect example.

The day had started out sunny, a warm balm that dusted Garden's hallways and improved the chill normally found in the wind this time of year. Quistis thought it might be nice to take a stroll in the Quad. Then she decided it might be a nice day for a walk. And without questioning what she was doing or why she was doing it, Quistis had dressed in her civ clothes (her single pair of jeans probably shocked at being used), grabbed her bag, stopped at Jerri's bakery and found herself knocking on Seifer Almasy's door with a box of fresh coffee cake under one arm and Seifer's freshly laundered sweatpants under the other. She'd replaced the t-shirt with a new one because even with half a tube of stain stick, there was no making it respectable.

And here she stood on Seifer Almasy's doorstep, for no other reason that it was a beautiful day.

Quistis could not pinpoint the moment when her world had gone completely insane, but she suspected it all grew fuzzy between losing Irvine and taking up Seifer's case.

What she needed was a bottle of tequila and a week on the Centrian shores.

She heard the jingle of Vagrant's tags inside, followed by a snorting sound underneath the door, which was then followed up by the furious banging of the dog's tail against the wall.

She smiled and knocked again.

Movement from within, and a female voice saying, "I'm sorry, but you have to wake up. There's somebody here…no. I don't know who it is."

_Oh, Hyne. He has a guest._

Quistis clutched the coffee cake to her chest. This was a bad idea.

She heard a crash, then muffled swearing.

She dug in her purse for her notepad. She'd leave the coffee cake by the door with a note.

The footsteps were coming closer.

_A quick note. Just, thank you, and a signature-_

Closer.

No, no note, no time for a note. Just when she was preparing to drop the bakery box by the door and sprint off, Seifer opened the door, catching her mid-turn. He was bleary-eyed and wearing only a pair of black shorts. "The fuck is- oh. Hey." The hand on the door visibly relaxed.

Quistis tried not to look, but as he was half-naked, it was difficult. His hair, longer now, stuck up at odd angles in the back and hung in his eyes in the front.

The muscles Seifer had as a soldier seemed not to be lost on him now-working on the docks had been kind to his physique. He was tanned all over, and as he turned to look behind him, she could see the muscles in his stomach shift with the movement, highlighting the pronounced hip bones that jutted from his boxers. It was a stomach, as Selphie would say, that you could eat off of.

_Eat _**what**_ off of?_

Silently, she urged her brain to stop channeling Selphie.

He rubbed at his eyes. "Uh… sorry, did we have an appointment today?"

She could feel the heat in her cheeks spreading. "No, we don't, I'm really sorry, I just wanted to-I didn't want to wake…and I'm interrupting something, I'm sorry." He was half naked and looked half asleep still, looking confused, and she'd interrupted his morning, his-

Her blush deepened with the thought, her stomach squirming unpleasantly that she had interrupted his…_well_.

She all but shoved the bakery box and the bag of clothes into his arms and turned to leave.

Her retreat was stopped abruptly when he grabbed her arm, stopping her. "The hell are you talking about? You didn't interrupt any-" Seifer glanced behind him, realization dawning. "It's just my cleaning lady. She's got her own key."

The bakery box and the bag of clothes were balanced in one arm. He still hadn't let go of her. His fingers were warm.

_The cleaning lady. Right_, thought Quistis, wondering why he felt the need to explain, and why she cared at all. It wasn't as if Mr. Almasy's contract with the Tri-Garden council precluded him from encounters of a sexual nature-

As if on cue, a woman came out of the bathroom, holding a rag and a bucket and wearing a handkerchief to hold her hair back. She looked to be in her late twenties, and was quite pretty. She gave Quistis a brief smile. "Is there anything else, Mr. Almasy?"

Seifer dropped her arm. "Nah, Mara. Mara, this is Quistis. Quistis, Mara. And for the sixteenth time, stop calling me Mr. Almasy, it makes me feel old as hell."

"Sorry, Mr. Al…Seifer. Force of habit."

Seifer went to the kitchen table and picked up a white envelope, handing it to Mara. "There's for the month- thanks. Tell Kersen I'll see him tomorrow."

"I will. I'll see you next week," said woman, patting his shoulder affectionately as she left. "Nice to meet you, Quistis."

"Er, yes, you, too, Mara." Quistis moved to let her through, then turned back to Seifer and raised an eyebrow."You hired a cleaning lady?"

"Yeah," he replied. "She runs a cleaning service, and I work with her husband. They're tight for cash right now, so I offered her the job." Lady_Shallot's comment about him being a little vain and living in a pig pen had hit a little too close to home, so when he'd found out about Mara and Kersen's situation, he'd hired her immediately. Mara was sweet, cleaned well, and even cooked him breakfast if he was awake while she was over, and it absolved him of the responsibility of cleaning up after himself, which he hated anyway.

"That's….nice of you." Quistis said, looking surprised.

Seifer shrugged. "Yeah, well, I don't clean. What's in here?" He looked down at the bag and the box in his arms.

"Oh! Just your clothes, I had them laundered and I picked up some bakery, you know, as a thanks…and an apology for…um…the other night."

He held up the t-shirt. "Balamb Bloodsouls?"

"I replaced your other one…it was really old, I didn't think it would survive the washing." she said. "They're my favorite team, too," she added.

"I know," he muttered before he could stop himself. Thankfully, she didn't seem to hear him, as she had taken the box from him and she was busy with the strings tying the box shut.

She held out the box to him, and he opened it, raising an eyebrow. "Coffee cake?"

"Extra icing. No raisins," she added. She really wished he'd put on a shirt.

His eyebrow climbed further. "How'd you know I don't like raisins?"

"Mind reading, I'm a class A psychic." she replied, reaching down to pet Vagrant between the ears. At Seifer's dubious look, she sighed. "You didn't like them at the orphanage. I assumed you still didn't."

"I don't. Uh, thanks." He said, surprised, and for a moment they both stood there.

They both spoke at the same time.

"I should go."

"Did you…you can come in, if you want." He said. "It's a little cold out there."

She was wearing a light jacket over her sweater, but imagined that he must be feeling the chill, dressed as he was. "Oh, I shouldn't, I have to-" She glanced up at him. She really had nothing else to do that day. What would a normal person do? Come in, tell him thank you, and be on her way.

"All right. Just for a second, though. I don't want to disrupt your day."

"Seeing as I was planning on doing jack shit all day, that'll be pretty difficult to do. Be right back." Gesturing her in, he shut the screen door behind her, stretching as he walked into the bedroom. When he came out, he was pulling a shirt on.

Vagrant had settled his bulk into her side, and was groaning as she rubbed his ears.

"So, uh, why are you here, again?" he asked.

_Oh, right. Why **am** I here?_

"I was in the-"

_No, not 'I was in the neighborhood'._

_What then?_

"-your medical evaluation," she finished, grasping at straws."The Tribunal requested that a complete and current medical profile be submitted for their records," said Quistis, before Vagrant enthusiastically pushed her into the doorframe in his endless demand to be petted. "I needed to set up a date, er, time…that works for you."

She did not add that she suspected the Tribunal now wanted a physical assessment for the purpose of Odine's latest pet project on Sorceresses and their effects, (whether parasitic or symbiotic) on their knights, as she did not think that happy news would be particularly happy to Seifer.

She also didn't mention that the evaluation itself was due in about three months, and that there was no hurry. '_I wanted to return the clothes I had to borrow because I got ridiculously drunk and threw up all over mine, and bring you some baked goods as an apology, and it all started because I thought it was a nice day for a walk'_ was not something she was up to admitting, even to herself.

Seifer raised an eyebrow as he ran a hand through his hair. It was getting too long. Quistis caught herself noticing the muscles in his stomach shifting with the motion and pinched herself. Hard.

"Ouch." She muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"What the hell do they want a medical history for?" he asked.

Quistis shrugged. "I'm not certain, to be honest. They said they wanted a complete profile in terms of existing injuries and injuries sustained in the war, general health, psychological-"

"Fine," he said. "Whatever."

Quistis stared at him for a moment before she caught herself. She had been expecting a battle over this, an all-out I'd-like-to-see-you-make-me type of scenario that would end in strapping him to a gurney and taking samples as Seifer spit obscenities that would blister steel siding. This offhand surrender...it was disconcerting. It was like a Wendigo inviting you to tea- where was the bull rushing? The inevitable goring? The irrepressible _attitude_?

"In addition to a blood sample, a routine physical examination is also required. Kadowaki can make time in her schedule, or there are several male med techs available, if you would be more comfortable-"

"Nah, fuck it," grumbled Seifer. "Let's just get it over with today."

"Very well. I'll arrange to...wait, what?"

"You were one of Kadowaki's lackey interns in your first year, right?"

"Well, yes, but I don't see where-"

"Well, can't you just do it?" he asked impatiently. "I'm not real anxious to head back to Garden anytime soon, you know?"

"Can't I just..." she trailed off.

_Oh, shit._

"But they could...in a more professional atmosphere, um..." Her stuttering excuses had apparently run out.

True, she had obtained an intermediate med tech certification under Kadowaki that enabled her the status of 'Reserve Medic' on missions- she could bind a wound, apply a tourniquet, and do a crude suture in addition to her abilities in support casting, but she had never conceived that she'd be putting her training to use by doing a physical on Seifer Almasy.

_No, no, no. This was not professional, not appropriate, not in her job description at all-_

"If that's what you prefer," she found herself saying as she sat down on the couch.

_What?_ She silently screamed at herself. _You'll do what?_

That was it. It was TWO bottles of tequila and a MONTH on the Centrian shores or nothing at all.

Instead of pulling out her hair, she pulled out a pad of paper from her purse that she normally reserved for grocery lists.

Around Seifer Almasy, it was as if the two hemispheres of her brain devolved into nothing more than two snarling dogs glued together, as if logic and insanity had started a tug-of-war with her id fastened between two pairs of sharp, unrelenting teeth.

"We'll begin with your prior medical history."

"Fine," he said, sitting in the chair opposite her. "Ask away."

"It says here in your file that your earliest medical records, faxed over by Edea Kramer, show a broken clavicle at age four, and a broken radius at age five and a half before child services put you in her care. Is this information correct?"

"Yeah, clavicle I broke falling down the stairs and the lower arm I broke climbing up a tree." replied Seifer shortly.

"Treatment was given at a local hospital, both times?"

"Yeah."

"Broken clavicle treated on August 14th...broken arm treated on December 23rd..." she frowned. "You were climbing a tree in the middle of winter?"

Her only response was a shrug.

Quistis frowned and scribbled in her notes.

"No known food allergies, no allergies to medicine-"

"No," he interrupted. "Nothing."

"In addition to the physical they'll also need a vial of blood and urine," she said. "To test for microaeons and-"

"Micra-what?" he interrupted.

"Oh, it's Odine's latest research in the physical effects on casting. Microaeons are what he calls the chemical residue in the blood that is the result of casting- it affects voltage potential in cells." said Quistis. "And of course, the sample will be tested as per SeeD standard for drugs and for-"

"I don't do drugs and I'm not a fucking alcoholic, either." Seifer snapped. That much was true. During his time as a cadet, he had rarely touched the stuff, and after the Sorceress War, well, he had gotten annihilated almost every night in an effort to just fall asleep, but that was out of desperation when the sleeping pills didn't work.

"You don't have to expl-"

Something seemed to break open in Seifer just then, and the tension that had sat so rigidly in his form spilled out in his next words. "I don't do drugs 'cause I ain't a fuckin' junkie, and I don't drink all that much 'cause my old man used to drink all the time, all right?" He snarled.

Tense silence followed.

"At any rate, I don't have any sample containers with me, so the tests wait. Any living relatives?" she pushed on.

He shrugged.

"You don't know?"

"If there are, they didn't care enough to take me in, did they?" He frowned at her. "What, you remember _your_ family?"

"Well, no, not really," she admitted, "But I was sent to the orphanage when I was three years old. My parents died in the war. You were sent at nearly five years of age. Don't you remember your family at all?"

_They were yelling again. That was nothing new. _

_But then a sound like firecrackers went off in the kitchen, and the yelling stopped. _

**_That_**_ was new._

_And then he was standing in the doorway, his stuffed Chocobo dangling limply at his side as he peered in. _

_Mommy was on the floor. Daddy was standing over her, holding a gun in his hand, his expression curiously blank._

_His father seemed to notice him then._

_"Look at your son," his mother used to say. "He's your son, look at him."_

_"That's not my son," his father would reply. "I have no son."_

_Well, his father was looking at him **now**. _

_He turned the gun on him._

_"That's right, son. We should all go together, shouldn't we? Mommy will miss you if you don't come, too."_

_That was true, Seifer remembered thinking. Mommy always said she missed him when he was gone, and he didn't want her to be sad. He stood and looked at his father, wondering where it was that they were going together._

_His father squeezed the trigger, and Seifer flinched instinctively at the sound._

**_Click_**_._

_Nothing happened._

_Seifer would realize much later that it was only an empty chamber that had spared him._

_His father started to laugh then, but the sound was cold and joyless. "What do you know?" he said, and then he put the gun to the side of his own temple and pulled the trigger._

_Something warm and wet sprayed across Seifer's face as his father dropped like a marionette with its strings cut, and then the kitchen was silent once more, save for the irrepressible drip from the kitchen sink-_

_When he could not wake her, he lay next to his mother's rapidly cooling body and tried to sleep._

_And then there were adults, so many adults, all of them talking over his head, and in words he didn't understand. A stern-looking woman wiping hard at his face, the bloody chocobo doll thrown in the trash and strangers spiriting him away-_

**Murder-suicide: Father, Galen Almasy, 27, Galbadian Soldier id no. 85407, suffering from PTSD, shot wife Alena Almasy, 24, then turned the gun on himself. 1 child in residence, Seifer Almasy, 4, witness to the event. Child's welfare is currently entrusted to the state in the care of one Edea Kramer-**

Seifer realized that Quistis was looking at him, a concerned expression on her face. "Seifer, if this is a bad time, I can come back and-"

"It's always a bad time," he snapped. "My mom died a long time ago, and my old man's probably in hell, if there's an ounce of justice in the fucking world-"

"But Seifer, he was your-"

Seifer laughed, but it was a cold, joyless sound. "My _what_? My father? The dick used to get himself shitfaced all the time, and then he liked to take it out on my mom and me. That's how I really broke my collarbone- my asshole of a father picked me up and tossed me through the dry wall because I gave him shit or the sky was too blue or his dinner was cold or he just fucking felt like it. Broke my arm for the same reasons. And then one day the voices in his head or whatever the fuck told him to shoot my mom, and then he did the world a favor and blew his brains out while he was at it. That what you want to hear?"

She simply stared at him.

"Why are you asking all this shit, anyway?" he asked. "It's all in the files, every broken bone's charted, every scar's property of Garden's medical records, and the shit with my biological parents is all in the fucking child services records they kept when they dumped me on Edea's doorstep." He tilted his head, as if a thought was clicking into place. "What, the mighty Garden Tribunal can't unseal my juvenile records? There're some of my individual rights they haven't been able to trample over? News to me."

There was that old anger again, that same sharpness in his voice and the tenseness in his body, his green, glittering gaze like a razor edge and for a moment, he reminded her of the old Seifer, the young Seifer with the balled fists and the permanent scowl that had tormented Zell when they were children, that had knocked down her sandcastles and later, had faced them in battle with a sorceress on his back. Angry. Resentful. That Seifer had scared her.

But just as suddenly that anger seemed to wander away in him, and he simply looked tired and resigned.

This Seifer didn't scare her. This Seifer…she understood.

"I'm sorry," She looked up at him. "I'm really sorry, Seifer."

It was all she could say, and however heartfelt, it came out sounding cheap. What good were words like sorry, anyway? They didn't change anything, didn't make anything better, and they didn't come close to filling the void that generated their utterance in the first place.

Then she remembered how he had responded to her last apology, on the docks, and she cringed in anticipation.

He looked away. "Yeah, well, it was a long time ago, so don't be sorry, just do what you have to do and get it over with," he said.

There was no venom in his voice when he said it, which somehow made her feel worse.

"I...well...that concludes the previous medical history," she finished lamely. "If we can just map your existing injuries, we'll have satisfied the requirements. You'll need to strip down to a pair of shorts you feel comfortable in for this part."

_This is a bad idea,_ said her left brain.

_The first half-naked man you've seen in nearly a year! _exclaimed her right brain.

"You shut up," she muttered.

"You say something?" asked Seifer, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it onto the chair.

"No, nothing," she replied.

_This is a professional courtesy,_ she told herself, _no different than processing 1st year physicals under Kadowaki's supervision._

She glanced down at her notes and hoped her cheeks weren't burning. "If you'd like to change into a robe, I'll- hey! Hey! Hey, wait!" she stuttered, as Seifer stood up and promptly began to unbuckle his pants.

"What's the matter, Trepe? Never seen a naked man before?" he asked, seeming to perk up at the prospect of her discomfort.

"Well of course I have!" she snapped, and then her cheeks flooded with color. "I mean...that sounded...not that many, it's just...really, it's none of your business, anyway, and will you -**_please_**- stop taking off your clothes in the middle of the living room, Seifer!" she stammered.

"Where would you like me to take them off, Trepe? The bedroom?" A pause. "Or maybe you wanted to take them off yourself?"

"No!" she shouted, the horrified, lowered her voice. "It's only..."

When he finished with his belt buckle, chuckling, she covered her eyes with her hand, but he only stripped down to a pair of black boxers and waited, his arms folded. She wished she was so comfortable in her own skin.

"Well? Let's get this over with. It's not all that warm in here, Trepe."

Despite the coolness of the room, he seemed to be holding up rather admirably...

Quistis resisted the urge to pull out her hair strand by strand. "I...yes. Fine. Let's do it. I mean...the examination. Let's start the examination."

He grinned. "Unless, of course, you'd just like to 'do it'."

"Don't flatter yourself, Almasy." she snapped at him.

Flipping the small notebook to a new sheet of paper, she quickly drew an outline of a generic human form common in physicals and autopsies. She could transfer her notes to the actual medical copy later, and if the powers that be had a problem with that, they could damned well re-do the job themselves. She wasn't doing this twice. She was shocked enough that she was doing it in the first place.

There was no way around ignoring it- Seifer was in great shape. His musculature was just as defined as it had been in Garden, his arms perhaps more so, every inch tanned and lean. The muscles of his chest sloped down in rigid knots, and defined hip bones jutted out as they disappeared into his boxer shorts.

The only thing different from his time in Garden was the collection of new scars that decorated his body- long-healed gashes along his chest and arms, and a deep, circular gouge in his back that would have required medical attention.

Quistis found herself reaching out to the angry mark when she mentally slapped herself.

_Remember your medical training, you idiot,_ she thought. _You're here to chart a medical history, not molest your patient._

"Please hold your hands out in a t-formation, palms up, for as long as you can hold the position." she commanded.

He did what she asked surprisingly with no resistance and she walked around, trying not to meet his eyes as she made notes on the outline, sketching in each individual scar and assigning a number.

"Did you want me to take my underwear off, too?" he asked, and she heard the smile in his voice. "I don't have any scars, I just thought you might like to document-"

"That won't be necessary," she replied quickly. "Where did you get the scar below your collarbone?"

"Which one?" he asked, distracted.

"The one that-here." She said, pointing at it with the pen, careful not to touch his skin.

"Oh, that one." he said. "Leonhart, training thing. Never reported it."

Quistis rolled her eyes and scribbled a note under the scar. "And this one?"

"Same reason."

It was awhile before she got around to his back.

"This one," she said, lightly touching the pen to a mark on his left bicep.

"Don't remember," he said. "Write down something gallant, like 'sustained while saving old lady from burning building', or some shit."

"How about 'saving twenty kittens from a burning mitten factory'?" she asked, rolling her eyes.

"That works, too. Make sure you put the part in where I did it all shirtless and oiled up, with one hand behind my back."

"And this one?" she asked, fighting a laugh as she lightly touched a small but long pink line along his side.

He hesitated. "You," he said, quietly, not looking at her.

Quistis brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and noted the injury on the pad, hating that she felt guilty.

This was a bad idea. She should have left it to Kadowaki.

_Can't ever say 'no', can you, Quistis?_

"I'm sorry," she said. "For whatever it's worth."

He shrugged. "Don't be. I wasn't trying to hug you at the time, if I remember."

"Some of these..." she said. "Were relatively superficial. Why didn't you heal them yourself?"

"Because I've always been shit with healing magic, you know that. I could stop the blood flow, but that was about it."

"And Ede...Ultimecia, she never...?"

"Healed me herself?" He gave a short, bitter laugh. "You're kidding, right? She told me to keep them...as a reminder of my failures."

She didn't know what to say to that, so she settled on silence. Instead, she finally touched the angry-looking scar between his shoulder blades,

And with her touch, came the memory, still razor-sharp:

_"Worthless boy! You have failed me for the last time!"_

_Searing heat slicing across his back, carrying with it the sting of split skin and the warm, wet splash of blood down his back as he fell to his knees, her heel digging into his back-_

"Ultimecia," he said.

"Does it still hurt?" she asked.

"Yeah, a little. There's some kind of magic in the wound, I think. It never really healed right."

"Which kind of magic?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. The kind that doesn't leave."

Before she knew what she was doing, she was tracing the scar with her fingertips, touching his bare skin for the first time in- well, _ever_.

The scar tissue was smooth and puckered, warm to the touch like the rest of his skin.

Seifer, meanwhile, seemed to have gone very still.

Her fingertips trailed along his right shoulder blade, down the slope of his back and towards the ridge of his boxers before she caught herself and drew her hand away. A light vapor trailed after her fingertips, the soft light of Scan. She'd found scan to be a particularly useful spell, as she'd discovered that it could not only reveal a rough estimation of HP, it could also trace the types of magic in applied damage. No definitive spells came up with the cast, and she wasn't surprised- spell damage tended to hemorrhage into an indistinct energy over time, the longer it was kept in the body.

Usually the damage inflicted by magic was only superficial- fire created terrible burns, ice could burn, blister, or penetrate the skin as a projectile, but Quistis imagined that with the power of a Sorceress behind it, Ultimecia could have made the damage last in any way she wanted to...and the sadistic bitch would have wanted it to last.

"You should have had this treated," Quistis said. "It isn't wise to let magic linger in a wound-"

"Yeah well, after the war, hospitals aren't real great in healing magical injuries, and I couldn't exactly stroll into Garden, could I?"

"I could try to heal it for you..." The words were out before she could stop them, and she braced herself for a searing refusal, he didn't want her help, didn't need her help-

Instead, the muscles in his back knit together like a frown as he shrugged his shoulders.

Quistis knew he was being deceptively nonchalant- an injury like this with residual damage would crackle like static all day and sit in his back like a balled fist later on, grating on the nervous system and probably giving him some terrible headaches.

"Lean forward," she told him, and he obliged by bracing his hands on the chair in front of him.

She spread her hand along his back as she conjured the spell. Along with the surge into her fingertips and the heightened awareness came the realization that this was the first time she had used healing magic (any magic) since-

_-nevermind. _

_Concentrate._

Quistis had learned the tactic from Kadowaki; extracting the damage from a magical wound was a combination of Cura and Draw magic, and it had to be balanced carefully to avoid sealing in the damage further or leeching life itself from the body.

SeeDs learned early that healing magic was one of the most intimate types of magic, in that it required intense concentration and care on the part of the caster, and trust and stillness on the part of the recipient. Were any of these components absent, the results could be and often were disastrous. Apply the magic too sparingly, and the wound wouldn't heal, agitating the natural healing process on top of it. Apply it too liberally, and you could overload the voltage gates at a cellular level and explode a person's heart. Quistis had always been excellent with healing magic, as it was all about control. She wasn't particularly surprised that Seifer was terrible at it.

Her fingertips seemed to burn as they made contact with the damaged tissue, hands fanning out as she flattened her palm along his flesh, pressing hard into his back.

Ahead of her, Seifer closed his eyes and tightened his grip on the chair.

Blue light glimmered beneath her fingers, and she felt the prickle of the old magic flush like static against her own flesh.

And just like that, like a breath slowly being let out, his skin gave up the witch's ghost.

The warmth emanating from the spell faded and she could feel the heat coming from his body, the tense cord of muscle beneath the skin and the erratic drum of his heart, which seemed to beat back into her own flesh, humming in her blood...

**Stop**.

It was over in a matter of seconds, but Quistis found that she was breathing heavily, her heart beating as fast as his against her ribs. She understood now why Instructor Green had always recommended that healing variants be cast as a remote application. Direct application was too...

"..close..." she breathed.

"What?" He sounded out of breath.

"Nothing."

Seifer turned to her, and she could read nothing in his expression. "We finished?"

She quickly removed her hand, curling her fingers into a fist as the cast fizzled out. "Yes. All finished. How does it feel?"

"Better. Thanks," he said quickly. Reaching past her, he picked his shirt off of the couch, pulling it over his head. She stepped out of the way before he could reach for the pants.

Seifer ran his fingertips along the tip of the scar on his shoulder, finding that the tension that usually knit beneath the scar had ebbed. Now he had only the memory of the pain, and that would fade quickly.

He turned to thank her, but she had vanished into the next room- he could hear the snap of her briefcase. Buckling his pants, he followed her.

"So, you going to stay and have a cup of coffee?"

"I...I'm not sure that's such a good idea, Seifer," she replied, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm here on professional business, and-"

_Professional business my ass,_ thought Seifer. _You brought me a coffee cake. _

He folded his arms. "I'm pretty sure professional objectivity got thrown out the window when you threw up on my welcome mat."

She glared at him. "Well, now I _really_ want to sit and have a coffee with you."

He grinned. "It's the least you can do."

She folded her arms, too, mirroring him as she rolled her eyes. "Are you saying that getting drunk in front of you obligates me to drink coffee with you?"

He shrugged. "If it works, then yeah. Besides, somebody's gotta help eat the coffee cake." He glanced behind him. "I think Maria put a pot of coffee on. I swear, she thinks she's my grandmother or something."

"She did seem awfully fond of you, for some reason."

He shrugged. "Are you kidding? I'm irresistible to all women."

"Must've missed the memo." Quistis looked from the table to the kitchen and back to Seifer, who was now yawning and rubbing at his eyes.

It was with begrudging amusement and irritation that Quistis took a seat at his kitchen table. As Seifer poured coffee, Quistis let herself really look around. In previous visits, she'd either been too hung over or too focused on Seifer and whatever horrible thing was going to come out of his mouth next to appreciate her surroundings. With this new strange truce between them, it seemed she was free to look around.

Seifer's house had all the Spartan trimmings of a bachelor's house, with none of the female influence. Bare walls (though with a fresh coat of paint, from the look of them), mismatched plates, and furniture that was almost certainly plucked off of someone's lawn. Overall, though, it wasn't bad, though Quistis suspected that Mara's influence had a lot to do with that.

Seifer sank into one of the kitchen chairs and propped open the bakery box, cutting the coffee cake into thick slices with a butcher knife. "You go to that bakery on the corner?"

"Jerri's? Yes, of course, it's the best one in town," said Quistis, smiling. "Besides being the only one."

"That's true. You want some?"

"And dilute the poison? I'm kidding," she added hastily when Seifer frowned at her.

"Seifer," she began, accepting a coffee cup and a plate of coffee cake and summoning her courage. "I wanted to apologize for the other day. It was…unprofessional for you to see me like that, and I-I wanted to thank you for-"

He waved her off. "Eh, I've had worse nights than that. Don't worry about it. So are you staying or what? I can't eat all this coffee cake by myself."

"I suppose…well, I could stay for _one_ cup of coffee," she said, already taking a sip.

One cup of coffee quickly became three, and Seifer surprised her by having decent coffee, and not "that crap that comes pre-ground and tastes like bat shit", as he put it. He said he'd gotten it off the shores of Centra on a particularly long fishing outing, and while they drank cup after cup he told her stories about work, some of which had her laughing, some of which had her on the edge of her seat, and most of which were so ridiculous that he had her rolling her eyes. By the time Seifer finished a story about one of the rookies getting caught in his own fishing net, a few hours had passed.

Talking with Seifer was surprisingly easy. He had interesting stories, and was actually a good listener when she spoke, asking relevant questions and actually sounding interested. Vagrant, meanwhile, had been vanquished to what apparently was his 'place' and watched them from the door rug, hopeful for either a reprieve or a scrap of coffee cake.

While talking, Seifer had made eggs to go with the coffee cake, and he set her own plate in front of her. If someone had told her a year ago that she'd be a guest of Seifer Almasy, talking over a plateful of eggs and the truce coffee cake she'd willingly brought him, she would have checked that person into a loony bin.

Vomiting on someone broke down a lot of barriers, she supposed.

Seifer paused between a mouthful of coffee cake."Whatever happened to that guy you were supposed to meet that night, anyway?"

Quistis stirred her coffee, watching the circles of cream disappear into the black tidal pool. "Nothing."

"But you were…crazy about him, weren't you?"

Around and around the spoon went. "Oh. Well. Yes, I suppose I was rather…taken with him," she replied, feeling her face flush.

Seifer sat back in his seat, smiling and folding his hands behind his head. "So, why don't you two run off together?"

She sighed. "It's complicated."

"Complicated?" Seifer raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess...he's married?"

"No! Well, I don't _think_ so..."

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't _think_ so?"

"...that is, well...I'veneveractuallymethim," she finished in a rush, putting her hand over her face. "I only know him because of...well..."

"Let me guess," said Seifer. "The internet?"

"Yes," said Quistis, her hand still over her face. Her cheeks were an endearing shade of pink.

"You should meet him," he said. "Well, no, I take it back. Why meet him, and ruin a perfectly good illusion-"

Quistis took her hand from her face, frowning. "You know, I hardly think I need advice from-"

Leaning over, he put a hand over her mouth. "Let me do you a favor and stop you now, before you say something you'll regret later."

They looked at each other for a moment, considering each other in silence. She frowned at him over his hand.

He grinned at her. "Hyne, I really bring out the worst in you, don't I?"

_You've had a lot of practice_, she thought ruefully.

She smiled, and, feeling the curve of her lips under his skin, he quickly removed it, clearing his throat. He reached for another slice of coffee cake, slathering it in butter before taking a big bite. It was excellent; she must have just stopped at the bakery- the cake itself was still warm, the icing thick and gooey.

"Butter on coffee cake?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Try it," he said, holding out his piece.

Taking it, she tried a bite, looking thoughtful. "Not bad."

He gazed at her across the table. She didn't look like the Quistis he was used to- not prim and proper with a piece of form-fitting clothing up to her chin– she seemed to be surprising him with her clothing choices lately.

Today, she was wearing an old cable knit sweater over a pair of jeans, paired with a set of plain white slipper shoes. He could see the scar again, the pale pink gash disappearing beneath the sweater's thick collar. He hadn't realized that Quistis knew about the existence of something as casual as jeans, much less owned a pair of her own. Small silver earrings danced at her ears, and he wondered again when she had gotten them pierced. Earrings weren't a practical part of a mercenary wardrobe, after all.

He cleared his throat. "Thanks for the coffee cake," he said.

"Not at all. Thank you for the eggs, and the coffee," she replied, and by the way she shifted in her seat, he knew she was trying to think of an excuse to duck out gracefully.

_Shit. He didn't want her to go._

"More coffee?"

She hesitated. "I'd better not," she said. "I won't sleep." Not that she slept much anyway, even now.

"Well," said Seifer, stretching. "I'd better get dressed."

"Of course. I've kept you too long," said Quistis, wiping her mouth on her napkin and standing up.

He shrugged. "No, you haven't. Like I said, I didn't have any plans. You?"

"Well, no, today's my day off-" she began.

Technically, any day she wasn't attending to Seifer's case was a day she had off, as Cid still insisted on handling her with kid gloves and refused to activate her status as a SeeD eligible for missions.

Seifer took a brown leather jacket off a hook near the doorway. "Well good, then you can accompany me."

"Accompany you-?"

She was never sure how it happened, but minutes later, she found herself on the back of Seifer's bike, his helmet on her head, without any real clear memory of how she happened there.

She wanted to chastise herself, to convince herself that this was not at all professional behavior, and of course it wasn't, but she also couldn't quite persuade herself to care. She'd thrown up all over the man and apparently allowed him to carry her back to his home and deposit her half naked in his bed…how much more unprofessional could it get, really?

Besides, he made her smile, and the last person to make her smile had been…

It had been awhile since she had had anything to smile about.

"You might want to hang on," said Seifer, before he opened up the throttle and the bike accelerated with mighty jerk, rubber pealing as she choked down a squeal of surprise.

Quistis was left with no choice but to put her hands on Seifer's midsection and hang on. His sides were warm beneath her palms.

"Where are we going?" she shouted above the wind.

"You'll see," he replied, not turning his head.

Nothing left but to see where the road took her, she supposed.

And she smiled.

_Irvine would be proud of me._


	51. Chapter 51

A/N: Sie's boat is based off of a lot of portable cooks in Thailand, who paddle around harbors and cook inside their boats. Google it- it's truly amazing what those chefs can do (considering I can barely stay upright in a canoe). And yes, I have to say with the other authors that write the cliche that Quistis can't cook. I don't think she'd ever have had a reason to, at Garden, and I like throwing her character out of her element. (see 'How Not to Date Blondes for the best Quistis-trying-to-cook scenario that I've ever read- it's a fabulous and funny Quistis/Zell story by seventhe and enkida!) I realize this chapter is quite long, but I was just having too much fun to condense it- I hope you'll forgive me for the rambling!

P.S. I know nothing about Balamb's actual climate. I made it all up. I wanted to have S/Q at a farmer's market and only belatedly realized I'd written myself into a corner with it being the beginning of winter. And so, I made of it what I could, so let's just all...go with it.

..

.

The bike ride was exhilarating.

Seifer was reasonably sure that Quistis had never ridden a motorcycle before; the mobile units were more Galbadia's style than Balamb's and at first, she instinctively tried to resist the bike's momentum in the turns, leaning the opposite way and trying to correct the bike's hard, sloping movements.

However, she learned quickly- within minutes, she was leaning when Seifer leaned, letting her body flow with the bike's movement, her thighs tightening around his sides with every turn. Once he felt she'd gotten the hang of it, Seifer grabbed a fistful of throttle and let the bike go as fast as it was designed to. The bike was not a cruiser- it had a 130 horsepower engine, lightweight carbon fiber aerodynamic fairing and radial-mounted Odino-bloc brakes- it was built like a bullet.

Quistis responded to the sudden change in pace by tightening her arms around his waist, which was not unwelcome (though a little distracting). Leaning forward, he took the bike through her paces around the deserted seaside roads, the sound of the engine drowning out the call of the gulls.

Balamb had fairly late winters, and as such, enjoyed a long and languid growing season. Soon, however, the first snow would be coming and he'd have to put the bike under the canopy; he wanted to get in a few good rides before then. It was another hour before he pulled into their destination, but he didn't hear Quistis complaining.

Then again, he couldn't hear much of anything underneath the helmet.

Quistis climbed off first, pulling off her helmet, and Seifer instantly missed the heat of her thighs. Her hair was a mess and she was flushed with the exhilaration of the ride, cheeks pink and just a little out of breath- gorgeous. His worries that he might have scared her a little with the fast ride fled in the wake of her smile.

"That was wonderful!" she said, then frowned as she felt her hair. The bike ride had effectively shredded her careful ponytail, which had flapped outside the helmet like a banner as they rode. She'd lost the elastic band somewhere behind them- there was no putting it back up. Abandoning hope of a proper hairstyle, she ran her fingers through it a few times to clear out the wind-tangled snarls and then left it alone.

Her heart was still racing from the ride- the rumble of the engine beneath her, the smell of Seifer's dragon-leather coat and the feeling of free-falling forward onto the road ahead was unlike anything she had ever experienced before.

Seifer deposited his own helmet on the back of the bike, pulling off his gloves by the fingers and tossing his jacket over the seat.

It didn't take Quistis long until she realized where they were. They were at the seaside farmer's market, and it was jam packed full of people. She knew of the market's existence- it was where Garden bought a great deal of its fresh provisions during the summer; however, she had never gone herself. People moved crates from one side of the harbor to the other, buyers heckled, and lumps of people wandered from stand to stand, chatting and swinging parcels at their sides. Though winter, the first snow of the year hadn't come yet, and people were sitting outdoors in heavy sweaters, drinking cider and eating on patio furniture outside restaurants.

Seifer, like Quistis (and everyone else on the docks) had dressed warmly, and was wearing a dark grey cable-knit sweater that made his eyes look even greener. After seeing him almost every day in the traditional grey coat and leather pants, it was a strange departure, but then, it had probably been a shock to him to see her dressed in civilian clothes as well.

The market provided a virtual feast for the senses. Truck beds, sometimes acting in place of stalls, bore merchandise of almost every kind. Pumpkins the size of boulders sat on the flatbeds, along with crates of apples and squashes in bright colors and unusual shapes. Fish, mussels, and calamari lay on beds of shaved ice, and off the side, one man was selling Chocobo meat skewers from a wood stand. Steam rose in the air from cooking carts and from the breath of those unloading crates of fish on the docks.

She could smell the salt air from the water, the sweet-sharp smells of cooking, and underlying it all, the faint scent of fish.

"What are we here for, exactly?" she asked, stuffing her hands in her pockets.

"Dinner," he said simply.

Seifer was obviously a veteran of the fish market. As they walked, he pointed out which booths were best for fish, and which vendors tried to pass off day-old catch as fresh. He showed her how to look at a fish, to look for clear eyes and bright scales.

Some of the vendors waved at Seifer, and he explained that those were favored clients of Captain Jack, who only sold to people he liked.

All five of them.

Seifer bought a bag of oysters from one of the five and took out a switch blade out of his pocket, flicking it open.

Quistis raised an eyebrow at the appearance of a weapon.

"What?" said Seifer innocently, catching her disapproval. "It's a work-related tool."

Quistis just rolled her eyes as they sat down on the pier. "Just try not to shank anyone at the fish market."

"No promises." Grinning, Seifer stuck his knife into the hinge on an oyster shell, then carefully worked his knife to the front. When he'd pried the shell off, he loosened the pale-colored muscle inside with his blade and handed it to Quistis.

"You want me to hold this for you?" asked Quistis, holding it up.

"No, I want you to eat it," he replied, starting on another one.

Quistis looked dubiously at the shell in front of her.

She sighed.

_Why not?_

It wasn't as if eating a raw piece of shellfish would be the craziest thing she'd done in the past few weeks, although throwing up again in front of Seifer was on a list of things she'd sworn never to repeat in her lifetime, and she wasn't sure how well she could stomach something raw.

"Cheers," she said, tipping the shell's contents in her mouth and slurping it down. Her first thought was 'slimy' but it was immediately followed by a salty burst in her mouth that tasted bright and briny like the ocean.

"Not bad," she told Seifer, who was watching her. He grinned and handed her another oyster.

They ate the entire bag of oysters with their legs hanging off the docks, tossing the shells into the water and seeing if they'd skip. While they ate, Seifer told a story about how they had one day run into a ship that had accidentally netted a baby Ivalan whale, which, in its distress, was dragging the ship into the shallows, which ran the risk of destroying the ship and beaching the whale. The captain of the other ship was considering killing it, but he and Cel had volunteered to try to cut the net free, even though Jack told them they were nuts to do it. Still, they'd each taken a knife, stuck it between their teeth, and dove in.

The mother whale, which was roughly the size of a submarine, was circling the two ships, occasionally nudging the calf (and unfortunately, only tangling it further into the net in her attempts to help). With each pass, she let out a keening wail that seemed to shake the water itself. For whatever reason, she hadn't harmed either Seifer or Cel, though whether or not she'd sensed that the two men were there to help her baby, it was impossible to say.

Seifer recalled the silkiness of the calf's skin and the feeling of the great dark eye as big as a beach ball watching their every movement as he cut it free. He recalled the exhilarating feeling of the calf's boulder-sized heart beating beneath his fingers, the feeling of watching as both mother and calf swam away, calling to one another.

Quistis smiled at the story, and at Seifer. He had always demanded that they let the fireflies go free at the orphanage every night as they began to dim in the jelly jars beside their beds...it seemed that at least a fragment of that little boy had survived.

Seifer paused, rinsing and wiping the knife blade on his pants before retracting the blade and putting in his pocket.

"You know, when I said that Irvine was a horrible soldier-"

"-Seifer's, it's-" began Quistis.

"No. I meant it," he interrupted. "He was a really shitty soldier."

At the look that sparked in Quistis's eyes, he raised a hand to let her know he wasn't finished. "After the war, he actually stopped over at my house. I opened the door one day, and there was Irvine, standing on my doorstep with a six pack of beer."

Quistis frowned. She hadn't known Irvine had visited Seifer after the war.

"When I asked him what the hell he was doing there, he just smiled and said he thought maybe we could sit and have a beer together."

Seifer gave a rueful laugh, and Quistis could picture Seifer in the doorway, his scars still fresh, looking with shock, disbelief, and a little anger at Irvine. "I said, I'm one of the bad guys, remember, and he just laughed and said we were all heroes and villains sooner or later."

Seifer wasn't looking at her, but staring out at the harbor, and she knew he was lost in the memory. "And I said, so what? You want me to sit there with you and drink beer with you like the war didn't happen? And he looked down at the beer, and said, 'Why not? They're still cold.'"

"So what did you do?" asked Quistis, easily envisioning Seifer slamming the door in Irvine's face, or worse.

Seifer shrugged. "What could I do? I sat on the front steps and drank the beer with him. He didn't talk about the war at all, just…stories about when we were kids, like when we set off all those fireworks on the beach, remember?"

"Yes, I remember."

"And after we finished the beer, he left."

_Weight on his shoulder- Irvine's hand clapping him as he stood, tipping his hat. "See ya around, Seifer."_

Seifer looked at his hands. "I meant what I said. He was a shitty soldier. No discipline, no self-confidence. Was the most un-trigger happy sniper I've ever seen. But he was a decent person…better than I ever was."

"Seifer-"

But whatever Quistis was about to say was interrupted when a small elderly man floated by them, smoking pouring from his boat. Quistis's first instinct was alarm- the man, however, didn't seem concerned in the slightest.

"You!" he shouted, pointing at the pair of them. "Lunch?"

"I've heard of him!" said Quistis, smiling suddenly. "It's Sie!"

"Sie?" asked Seifer, feigning ignorance.

"Yes, he's supposed to make the best food- here, we'll try some, my treat!" She waved him over.

As the man paddled closer, Quistis had a clearer view of his boat. She had never seen anything quite like it. A large metal pan on a raised platform held a few handfuls of hot coals, and on top of that, the man had placed a kind of griddle on which a giant wok bubbled with hot oil. Small dishes decorated the empty seats of the boat containing all manners of ingredients- vegetables, crates of eggs, brightly colored peppers, a box of what looked like tiny bananas, a couple of sauces in dusty bottles, and a few ingredients she didn't recognize.

"Sie?" asked Quistis.

The man just smiled.

Seifer fought a grin himself.

As the man secured a rope around the dock pole, he proceeded to lift different nets that had until then been submerged in the water and point to each one. One bag contained a number of wriggling small silver fish, the next, a large clump of mussels, and the third, a few lively shrimp.

Seifer pointed at the third bag containing the shrimp. "That one. The usual," he said.

The man nodded, and set to work. Quistis, who had been digging in her pocket for gil, raised an eyebrow. "You've gotten food from him before?"

"Course," said Seifer nonchalantly. "Best on the docks."

As they watched him work, Quistis had to admit that the man was truly a master. Within the small space of the boat, the man diced and cleaned the shrimp, peppers, and vegetables, splashing oils and strange sauces into the sizzling wok and tossing the contents with ease. Soon, delicious smells filled the slightly chilly air, and the man ladeled generous clumps of stir fry into plastic dishes. Quistis handed him some gil in return, and the elderly man gave her a wink as he pushed off from the docks and sailed back across the harbor, his boat leaving a tail of smoke behind him, which Quistis supposed was his calling card.

Quistis dug into her stir fry, finding it hot and full of the wonderful spices the man had added during cooking.

"Good?" asked Seifer.

Her mouth full, all Quistis could do was nod.

Stomachs full, they wandered the rest of the market. There were craft vendors as well- two elderly women selling beautiful woven rugs, a young girl selling blown glass vases and jewelry, and an elderly couple with their truck bed brimming with flowers. The selection was made up of mostly hardy strains that could survive the cold: mums, carnations, and a few tightly-closed rose buds. But there were a few others, also, more delicate flowers that must have been grown in a greenhouse and were now preserved in the cold. Quistis pushed a lock of her hair back as she bent to smell a beautiful cluster of rubrium lilies- the elderly couple smiled at her and she returned it as she straightened. She moved on to the next stand, which featured an array of cleverly carved wooden bowls. When she turned to find Seifer, she found one of the lilies held up in front of her.

"Saw you admiring them," said Seifer, holding up the blossom. "And yes, I bought it," he added, no doubt in response to her surprised expression. "It's...a thank you for lunch."

From the next stand over, the elderly couple was now smiling knowingly at them.

She hesitated. No one had ever really given her a gift before. Tian had proffered the perfunctory arrangement of roses on special occasions, but it had never been spontaneous, and she'd always had an ample amount of time to craft an appropriate response, a polite thank you with just the amount of warmth infused-

"I…thank you," she finished, accepting the flower. Not knowing what else to do, she tucked the stem behind her ear. She waited for the scathing comment about nothing being more pathetic than a half-wilted flower behind a girl's ear, but it didn't come. Well, she supposed it wouldn't- he was the one that had given her the flower, after all.

"You aren't covering up your scar anymore," he said, gesturing to the open collar on her sweater.

She hadn't really thought about it today, until now. "You don't cover yours," she retorted, unconsciously tugging the collar of her sweater up a little.

"It's in kind of a hard place to conceal, even if I wanted to," he said, shrugging.

"But you wouldn't want to, even if you could, would you?"

"Nah. Scars are good reminders."

"Of what?"

"Dunno. Of what I lost, I guess, what I still have. Of how much of an idiot I was when I was younger."

Her smile told him she liked his answer.

There was somewhat of a commotion near the edge of the docks, and the two broke their conversation to glance over. A gigantic shortfin mako shark was suspended on a pulley on the far dock, and a few men were clustered around it, laughing and making crude gestures to indicate size. A few of the other men were dangling poles off the dock, glancing at them occasionally.

Without hesitation, Seifer approached them and was immediately enveloped in the conversation. Obviously, Seifer knew these men. She vaguely recognized Sam and Miggs from Seifer's usual crew, but only because she had studied his current employment thoroughly, from crew members to tax records.

Quistis hesitated at the edge of the group, not wanting to interrupt. One of the men said something, pointing at her, and Seifer turned and gestured for her to join them. She was immediately enfolded by the group as she stepped forward, and then there was a collective shout; one of the older men had finally landed a fish on his line. He gestured at the other men, who shoved her forward and immediately handed her the pole; she nearly dropped it in her surprise.

"Reel it in!" he told her.

Quistis, who had never fished in her life, stared at the pole for a moment before gripping the reel and turning it jerkily, taking a firm hand on the grip to avoid losnig it. Whatever was on the end of the pole, it was certainly fighting not to be.

"Pull up! Set the hook!" shouted one of the men.

"Reel faster!" shouted another.

"Keep the rod tip up!"

"Pull what...keep what up?" she exclaimed in a panic, before Seifer stuck his hand underneath the pole and tilted it up for her.

_Oh_.

It was another few minutes before Quistis hauled the giant, writhing big mouth bass onto the dock, where one of the men unceremoniously smacked it in the head with a billy club and tossed it, limp and bloody into a cooler filled with ice.

Hands patted her back. "Pretty good for your first fish!" exclaimed one.

"Them bass are sure good fighters, aren't they?" said another, nudging her.

Quistis stared at the pole, dumbfounded. Ten minutes ago, she'd been strolling casually along the boardwalk. Five minutes ago, she'd been struggling with at least a fifteen pound fish. Now she was standing surrounded by a group of old men being congratulated for that very fish, while Seifer grinned at her.

The men seemed eager to show her the shark, too, talking animatedly and gesturing at the huge hanging fish. The shark was easily ten feet in length, and though she had fought monsters easily ten times its size, the teeth still made it rather intimidating. Its glassy dark eyes stared out blankly out at the harbor, and Quistis knew that no mercy lay behind those cold, wild eyes while it had lived.

At the men's urging, she lay her hand on the skin, running it up and down the fish's cold flesh.

"It feels smooth one way, like sandpaper the other," she marveled.

"It's got placoid scales for skin oriented towards the tail," said Seifer, watching her. "Helps it move faster in the water."

"What're you, the nature channel?" asked the one she recognized as Miggs.

"I like to know what I'm killing," replied Seifer. "How'd you land this thing, anyway? Dynamite? Did it die of old age?"

Miggs ignored him.

"How many teeth does it have?" Quistis asked, bending to peer into the gaping, bloody maw of its mouth. The shark had what looked like hundreds of jagged protrusions, lined up like clusters of nettles in the pink flesh of the gums.

The crowd was apparently pleased by her curiosity. One grizzled old man, grinning and wearing a glove made of a fine mesh chainmail, reached into the mouth and yanked out a tooth, handing it to her.

"Pull's out easy 'cause it ain't got roots, like our teeth does. Shark like this'll have up t' fifteen rows at a time; this un's got five. Some of 'em got thousands of teeth, take you a coupla hours t'count 'em all up. Sharks'll break 'em off feeding lotsa times, then they got back up teeth t'take the lost one's place. Name's Lock, by the way."

Lock had several scars across his hands and face, and his fingernails were blotted with bruises from old injuries. His clothes were covered in the glitter of fish scales and blood, and smelled faintly of sweat and saltwater. Her father might have a fisherman, might have come home in the evening with grizzled cheeks and a coat drenched in sea spray and fish blood. Quistis thought of her own scars, her own sweat, and felt an impulsive sense of kinship and fondness for the men in front of her.

Seifer watched as Quistis touched a thumb carefully to one of the needle-sharp tooth. The men watched her, clearly mesmerized.

_Idiots_.

Though he couldn't really blame them. Quistis, with her hair pinned up and her reading glasses perched on her nose was beautiful- however, a Quistis with her hair loose and in a pair of tight jeans was on another plane entirely.

"Eh, tha's nothin'," said the geezer, reaching inside his shirt to reveal a shark tooth the size of a fist strung on a necklace. He pulled it over his neck and handed it to her. "This here's a Megalodon tooth, them's been extinct for lotsa years but you still find 'em, sometimes." He held pulled it from around his neck and handed it to Quistis, who ran her thumbnail along the sides. It was serrated like a steak knife.

"Look!" she said to Seifer, showing it to him. "It's gigantic! This creature must have been easily four times the size of a mature Mako shark when it was alive!"

He grinned. "I've seen it. Locks here likes to show that thing to anyone that'll stand still long enough. Thinks it's lucky."

The old man glared at him. "Is lucky."

"How do you figure that?" retorted Seifer.

Locks cleared his throat. "Story's not fit fer ladies' ears."

Seifer snorted, glancing over at Quistis. "Her? A lady? This chick can drink more than you can and still break your neck with a-"

Quistis elbowed him hard in the side, effectively cutting him off. "Thank you, Locks. It's nice to see somebody has manners around here." She handed him back the necklace, but when she tried to hand him the smaller shark tooth, he shook his head. "Nah, keep it. Somethin' t' remember me by."

On what could only be called impulse, Quistis leaned over and kissed his grizzled cheek.

The old man grinned from ear to ear. "See, Almasy?" he said, looping the necklace back around his neck. "Lucky."

"Whatever," muttered Seifer, taking her arm and leading her away. "Say goodbye, gentlemen."

"Now don't hog her all for yourself, Seifer," said Sam, winking. "Bring her by again, won't you?"

"Yeah, preferably without _you_," added Miggs.

Seifer flipped them all the bird as he walked away, and laughter scattered behind them. He wished Quistis wouldn't wave- it only encouraged the salty bastards. He wasn't going to hear the end of this for a long time.

"No manners? I'm offended," said Seifer, feigning distress. "I think I've been a perfect gentleman all day."

"Does 'gentleman' have another definition I'm not aware of?" she asked teasingly.

Yeah, it means I haven't thrown you down in the middle of the harbor and ripped your clothes off, he thought.

The rest of the day passed amicably. Quistis bought them both a cup of apple cider and they wandered around the rest of the market. Seifer bought a large, clear-eyed sea bass from an elderly man with twinkling eyes and shaking hands, who wrapped it in a parcel of wax paper and gave Quistis a wink. Seifer tucked the package under his arm and once they reached the bike, placed it under the seat.

Seifer stopped the bike near the shore on the way home so she could see the sun set on the harbor. They sat on the bike, helmets off, not speaking as the gulls called to each other from across the docks. Quistis wondered at the effortless silence that had sprung up between them- the absence of pressure to say something clever, or important- the kind of pressure that had been ever-present with someone like Tian. Perhaps it was because they had grown up together, or because they had already yelled at one another every imaginable insult, had already been at one another with their teeth bared completely. After feeding on their mutual insecurities, after him hitting her where it hurt and after her blackening his eye, a silence between them seemed…insignificant.

Peaches and reds spilled across the quiet water, and she thought of Irvine, taking her in the middle of the night to feed the dolphins.

Irvine, standing in his boxer shorts with a pail of fish stolen from the cafeteria, gesturing her out.

"C'mon, Quisty! Don't be afraid!"

His hand guiding hers as he slipped their hands down into the water, and the silkiness of the dolphin's skin as it brushed against her thigh, taking the fish from her hand-

Before she knew it, she was speaking.

"Ultimecia…before she died, she said something. She said, "Reflect on your...Childhood...Your sensation...Your words...Your emotions...Time...It will not wait...No matter...How hard you hold on...It escapes you...And..."

"And?" Seifer had craned back to look at her.

"…and she never finished it. After the battle, after we woke up from Time Compression, I used to lie awake thinking about it, about what she might've meant." Quistis sighed. "It wasn't until after Irvine died…well, that it made sense to me."

"How so?"

"Her words, even then, made me think of the orphanage and of all of us, how we were alone drifting around in an ocean with no one to cling to; we held onto each other, then, and during the war, too- we were all that we had. And when we lost Irvine…I realized that she was right. No matter how hard we held on, it escaped us. We lost him- we were always going to lose each other, to time."

"There's no possible way to know what she meant, Quistis. The bitch was absolutely bat-shit crazy."

Quistis smiled ruefully. "I know, but I think it was her last parting shot to us…the thing she knew would hurt us the most, the thing she could be certain of. Time would hurt us worse than she ever could."

"But we're still here, now, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are." Quistis tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and smiled at him. The flower behind her ear was crumpled now from the helmet, but still pretty.

He had never seen that expression on her face before; it was small and a little sad, and open in a way that softened her features just slightly around the edges. She looked nothing like a mercenary, in that moment- just a beautiful young woman that had experienced more than her share of sadness. It made him want to kiss her.

He handed her the helmet instead.

"You want to stay for dinner?" asked Seifer.

_'**Why not?**' seemed to be the mantra of the day._

….

…

..

Vagrant was overjoyed to see them by the time they got back to Seifer's house, and required a fifteen minute run in circles around the backyard before he could come to terms with the excitement generated by their return.

It was getting dark outside by the time they went inside- Seifer set the fish on the counter. "Wine?" he asked.

"Please." Quistis leaned against the counter while Seifer poured them each a glass of white wine. Quistis examined her wine glass as he handed it to her, which was a jelly jar with a strawberry blown into the glass.

"Classy." She said, laughing.

"Yeah, well, I don't drink a whole lot of wine," he replied. "I'm going to go get the grill started, if you wanna start on the fish." Handing her a knife, he walked out the back porch, a hopeful dog hot on his heels.

When he returned from starting the charcoal, Quistis was in the same position he'd left her in, holding the knife while staring down on the fish as if it were an alien that had landed on his counter.

"...I don't know how to cook," she said unnecessarily.

"You don't know how to gut something?" he teased her.

She gave him a dirty look. "Not with the intention of eating it afterwards, no."

Laughing, he took the knife from her. "It's fine. I'll do it." Moving in front of her, he cut along the gill before he slit the bass's silver belly open and pulled out a tangled mass of guts, which quickly went in the garbage. He turned on the tap and started to rinse the blood from his hands, saying, "Start chopping up the lemons, the garlic, and the parsley. We're gonna stuff it in the fish."

"How do you want it chopped?"

"In pieces, preferably."

"Har, har."

The chopping thankfully went without incident, and soon the fish's belly was stuffed full of what Seifer called aromatics. Quistis had eaten at plenty of high class restaurants before, but had never put much thought as to what actually went into her food...in this case, literally.

"Now what?" she asked, having stuffed the fish as full as it could accommodate.

"Add salt," called Seifer from outside. Sure enough, there was a full canister of sea salt on the counter.

"How much?" she called back.

"Whole thing." he shouted through the screen.

Quistis hesitated. "I'm not a cook, but I think that might be a bit much!"

"We're making a salt crust. Just put the fish on that pan and dump it all on there!"

Raising her eyebrow, Quistis plopped the unfortunate creature onto the baking sheet and turned the entire salt canister upside down, and soon, the fish was covered in a burial mound of white sea salt. She stared at it for a moment, then clumsily patted at it.

"Now what?" she shouted, only to find him directly behind her. She jumped. Very few people were able to sneak up on her, but then again, he had once been a SeeD candidate, like her. Same classes on stealth.

"Here," he said, stepping behind her. "You've got to pack it along the sides. Like this." He put his hands over hers and began shaping the salt into a perfect mound over the fish.

Quistis froze.

Suddenly, she was aware of everything- the smell of the corn roasting on the grill, the way he had gone still and silent behind her, the way she was pressed up against him (shoulders against his chest, hips and thighs- the top of her bottom pressed firmly into his crotch- every inch of him warm, hard muscle-)

His breathing had slowed and she could feel each long, deep breath wash against her neck. She told herself that it was the wine that made her lean back, just a little, her weight now resting lightly against him.

She tilted her head to the side to look at him, and at that instant he bent behind her and slowly moved her hair to the side, exposing her neck and the hideous scar that lived there. He was leaning in, then, to do what she wasn't sure; the only certainty currently housed within her was that she definitely wanted him to do whatever it was, and **now**-

Vagrant's bark made them both jump. Seifer stepped away from her quickly, and agitated, Quistis ran a hand through her hair before realizing too late it was covered in salt, fish oil, and scales. She stared at her hand, disgusted.

But Seifer was too distracted to laugh at her. Fujin and Rajin had walked in, each with a paper bag in their hands. "INTERRUPTING?" asked Fujin, smiling, raising an eyebrow.

Quistis laughed it off. "Of course not! Seifer was kind enough to invite me for dinner. How are you, Fujin, Rajin?"

Rajin cast his friend a knowing smirk as he handed Seifer a bottle of wine.

Seifer, for his part, had never been less happy to see his friends. Still, he wiped his hands on his jeans, hugged Fujin, and said, "Happy Birthday, Fuj."

Quistis, surprised, echoed the sentiment. She didn't want to interrupt the friends' dinner, but Seifer had invited her, after all, and Fujin and Rajin both seemed happy enough to see her there. Seifer shoved the pan in the oven with a little more force than necessary and returned to the grill, and Quistis quickly shook herself out of whatever foolish daze she had been in and set to chatting with Fujin and wiping up the counter- it was as if the moment had never happened.

The night had been fun. The fish was delicious- moist and buttery and full of the herbs that he'd baked it in, and the chocolate cake that Rajin and Fujin had brought was excellent as well. They'd lit only one candle on the cake, as Seifer had said to light them all would be a fire hazard, a comment that earned him a good kick from Fujin. As the night wore on, it got colder, and Seifer had surprised Quistis by draping an old coat of his around her. They'd sat plastic chairs on the back porch around the warmth of the grill and drank wine out of Seifer's trademark jelly jars, and Quistis had even thrown the Frisbee for Vagrant, which made the dog's year.

Finally, Quistis had glanced at her watch and remarked at the time, and after insisting that they help him clean up, all three had left for Garden. Thankfully, Rajin and Fujin had borrowed a Garden car, and had offered to drive her, because Seifer didn't think he could stand to have her on the bike with him again without losing his head completely.

That night, Seifer ran the scenario in the kitchen through his mind over and over again, tormenting himself.

Just a few more inches, a few more seconds, and he could have pressed his lips against the fluttering pulse in her throat. Could have traced that long pink scar with his tongue down to wherever it lead as he took his hands away from hers and ran them up her arms.

A few more minutes and it would have been easy to turn her head, to slide one hand into her hair and press his mouth against hers, the other hand trailing down over her stomach, between her legs to press against the seam of those tight little jeans, the resulting backwards rock of her hips a delicious friction against his crotch. He knew already how she kissed, even if she didn't remember- all fierce and warm and wet, edges of her teeth biting just hard enough to hurt, all fire and warmth in every inch of her. He knew he could dip his fingers inside those tight little jeans and get her off with just his hand and then slide down those pants and turn her and fuck her up against the counter with his fist in her hair and his teeth at her neck and those gorgeous legs wrapped around him while the food burned. He wanted to see her face and those glorious breasts as she thrashed against him, not like she behaved for those prissy little yes men she'd been dating before. He could make her loose that composure of hers completely, make her moan his name the way she almost had before they'd been interrupted, he could watch her face as she unraveled around him-

_Fuck_.

Alone in his bed and impossibly turned on, Seifer ran a hand through his hair and hissed out a rush of air through his teeth. It certainly wasn't the first fantasy he'd had about Quistis- hell, he defied anyone to sit through a demonstration with that whip of hers wearing that joke of a uniform skirt during her section on Battle Tactics without a raging hard-on, but this particular fantasy had been about the real Quistis Trepe, not the stoic Instructor, not that rigid controlled idol he'd always wanted to grudge-fuck on top of her desk if for no other reason than to be the reason that she finally lost that infuriating composure of hers.

No, this fantasy featured the real Quistis and not the heroic icon, the warm and vulnerable version with her jeans and her old fisherman's sweater hugging her curves standing in his kitchen and drinking cheap wine out of a jam jar, laughing with his friends and playing fetch with Vagrant in the yard, helping him cook and making jokes. The same vulnerable, clever girl that wrote him letters, that made him laugh, made him think. This fantasy had been about the perfect end to an already perfect day- it was different than any other that he'd had about another girl, ever, because unlike all the other times, the other girls that had paraded through his head and his sheets, this fantasy involved wanting her around after he'd taken her to bed, because the things he wanted from her involved more than just a physical release.

He went to bed that night with her wrapped in his mind, if not between his sheets.

He was going to have to tell her.

**Soon**.  
….


	52. Chapter 52

_"Hey, this's Zell. I'm not here right now, well, technically I'm here, now, 'cause I'm recording the message, but by the time you listen to this, I mean, if you're still listening to this, I won't be here. I mean, I'm not here. Right now, anyway. But I'll probably be back pretty soon. Well, unless I'm not. So yeah, leave a message, and I'll get back to you when I get back! See ya! _

_Oh yeah, and wait for the beep, 'cause if you don't wait for the beep then won't record over the-"_

_**Beep**._

"Hey Zell, this is Quistis. I'd really like it if you were able to meet me at the Tequila Hook, Friday, 8 o' clock. By the way, Zell, you really should think about changing that voicemail message of yours…do you realize that it cuts off after the-"

_**Beep. Mailbox is full.**_


	53. Chapter 53

To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

Re: Meeting

_I've been thinking about it, and I really think we should meet._

.

..

.

..

.

..

.

To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

re: re: Meeting

I_ agree. And we will meet. But not right now. I've got a-_

Seifer paused, then backspaced a few letters.

_I'm in the middle of a project that needs.._

Another pause.

-_ work._


	54. Chapter 54

_"Booyaka! You've reached the line of Selphie Tilmitt! If this is about the Winter Festival Committee, meetings are at 1600 hours every Tuesday, otherwise, you can leave a message in my mailbox, which is 135SA in the mailroom. We still need volunteers to assemble the flower arrangements for the tables! If this is about the Committee for the Garden Welcoming Committee, meetings are at 1800 on the second Wednesday of every month, and I'm still waiting for volunteers to compile welcoming baskets! If this is about anything else, just-leave-a-message-at-the-beep-'cause-it's-about-to-"_

**Beep**.

"Selphie, this is Quistis. Despite your busy schedule, I'd really like it if you could meet me at the Tequila Hook, at 8' o clock, on Friday.

And no, to anticipate your question, I would _not_ like to make the flower arrangements for the tables, seeing as I've already made more snowflakes than have ever fallen in the history of Balamb, and have also, as I've been informed by Rinoa, already been volunteered as to serve as a 'drinks-distribution-manager' which you and I both know is a glorified bartender. You and I are going to have to have a long talk about the definition of 'volunteer' one of these days, Selphie.

Anyway, I hope you'll be able to come."


	55. Chapter 55

Lady_Shallot: You're up late.

Fisher_King: Guess this is what they call 'burning the midnight oil'.

Lady_Shallot: Working on that project of yours?

Fisher_King: Something like that.

Fisher_King: So, defying all logic, the Bloodsouls are in the Final Five.

Lady_Shallot: Defying all logic? Did I not explain about the untapped potential of Welks?

Fisher_King: Logically, I assumed it would be impossible for the man to physically extricate his head from his posterior for the purpose of scoring goals. It would surprise me further if, for the next five weeks, the teams able to stay in the running.

Lady_Shallot: Care to make a wager on the results of the Final Five?

Fisher_King: Go on.

Lady_Shallot: What shall it be, then? Gil? Humiliation? The loser runs around town in a chocobo suit?

Fisher_King: I don't think my ego could survive that last one.

Fisher_King: How about the loser buys dinner at the Glass Slipper?

Lady_Shallot: A risk-taker. I like it. Just to warn you, I'm not a light eater.

Fisher_King: Wouldn't respect you if you were. I hate women who graze.

Lady_Shallot: Excellent. I think I'll have the lobster dip, to start with...

Fisher_King: I admire your confidence. Especially since Selmis STILL has the lowest scoring average in the league.

Lady_Shallot: Oh ye of little faith.

Fisher_King: Oh ye of false confidence.

Lady_Shallot: Prepare to be wrong. Can your ego survive it, do you think?

Fisher_King: Just for that, I'm ordering a steak.


	56. Chapter 56

_"This is the voicemail of Squall Leonhart. If you have questions regarding missions, __status __reports, or anything pertaining to the daily operations of Garden, those should be directed to internal line 1011. If you have questions regarding anything else, direct your calls to Xu Yiang, secretary to the Headmaster, line 606. If you're still on the line for some reason, I guess you can leave a message. Whatever."_

**Beep**.

"Hi Squall, this is Quistis. You really need a new voicemail- perhaps Rinoa could help you out with that? Anyway, I'd really like it if you'd come to the Tequila hook at 8 o clock. I'm fairly certain that the others are coming, and you never know, it might be fun!"


	57. Chapter 57

**BALAMB GAZETTE**

_WAR MUSEUM VANDALIZED, SWORD STOLEN- NO CURRENT SUSPECTS, SAY POLICE _

**_Balamb_**.

_On Monday night, the Sorceress Memorial Museum was triggered at approximately 1:37 am. Aside from some minor vandalism, the sword of Seifer Almasy, the former Sorceress's Knight, was also reported missing. _

_"It's probably just some kids, given the juvenile nature of the offense, and the damage was easily remedied, said Brade Stolt, Chief of Police. As for the sword, well, we're currently pursuing a couple of leads, but nothing concrete." _

_The single security camera in the entryway was reportedly of little help in the investigation, and no suspects are reported at this time._

_Cid Kramer was unavailable for comment._


	58. Chapter 58

_"Hi, you've reached Rinoa and Angelo! I'm sorry that we're not in the room right not, but if you'll leave us a message, we'll get back to you as soon as possible! Right, Angelo?_

_Woof!_

_Good girl! Just wait for the beep!"_

**Beep**.

"Hi Rinoa, and Angelo, this is Quistis. I really hope you'll be able to come and meet me at the Tequila hook, 8 o' clock, on Friday. Thank you, by the way, for the mini-cactuar plant last week. You'd be proud of me- I haven't killed it yet, but...how often are you supposed to water plants, exactly?

I've invited Squall as well, so please try to convince him to come, won't you?"


	59. Chapter 59

To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

Re: Final Five

_What do you know? The Bloodsouls have made it to the second tier. You know, I think perhaps Ill order TWO appetizers._

..

.

To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

re: re: Final Five

_Nobody likes a smartass, you know._

.

..

To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

Re:

_Now, that's just not true- I like you well enough._

_Hows that project of yours coming, by the way?_

..

.

To: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)

From: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)

re: re:

_At the moment?_

_Slowly._


	60. Chapter 60

_This Xu.__ If it's important, dial direct line 606. If it's not important, hang up. If, for whatever reason, you're still on the line, leave a message and I just might call you back, depending on how important I think YOU are._

**Beep**.

"Xu, it's Quistis. Tequila Hook, Friday, 8 o' clock. I'm important. Be there."


	61. Chapter 61

A/N: The song I see being sung in this chapter is Sara Bareilles, 'Gravity', but you can pick whichever suits your fancy.

..

.

..

.

The Tequila Hook, though a veritable disco-seizure palace every Saturday, quieted to subtler hues during the week, and on Fridays, held an Open Mic night that was almost respectable. Without the glare of strobe lights flashing, the dark wood glowed dully like old coals in the soft lamplight, and the salt breeze replenished itself in the air with every swing of the door. Peanut shells crackled underfoot, and the conversation slowed to a dull murmur to allow the amateur music to be heard. The stage, which on Saturdays, which packed with writhing bodies, held a single piano and a microphone, and next to it, a karaoke machine that played just about any song you could think of.

It was Irvine that had first dragged her here- Irvine that had plied her with Tequila shots and dragged her on stage, shoving a microphone in her hand. It had been yet another meeting of what Irvine called 'The Lonely Hearts' club, which apparently included only him and Quistis. Quistis was never sure why Irvine did not invite the rest of the group, unless it was to avoid the 'sea of couples' that Quistis never quite seemed to fit into, even with the brief addition of Tian in their midst.

With the advantage of perspective, Quistis supposed Irvine had wanted eased her into a social life slowly, to avoid the shock of too much socialization at one time. He'd known her well, even then.

And it was true- after the war, Quistis would have been content to fade back into the woodwork, but Irvine would not allow it- dragging her onto the dance floor, asking her to partner up for missions and asking her out for lunches. Quistis had found that she and Irvine worked well on missions- he was serious when he needed to be, always courteous, and calm under pressure. Finally, she had run out of excuses and had wound up going out to lunch with him, where they had wound up playing Triple Triad for a unicycle which neither one of them could ride, eating Barny's-All-You-Can-Eat-Chocobo-Wings-Of-Fire (as it turned out, she could only eat one, as the wings were the size of an overlarge boomerang), and being banned from Madame Prissipants House of Antiques for life due to the demise of one unspeakably ugly vase.

It was safe bet to say that she had never had so much fun in her life.

So when Irvine had asked her to Open Mic night while she was buried under a mountain of missions reports (courtesy of Squall), she was only too happy to accept.

Attending was one thing, however- performing was another. Irvine had anticipated this resistance, however, and had smoothed the way with shots of tequila that left her only mildly indignant as she was shoved onstage.

"You can't!" she'd said, horror still creeping through her lime-and-salt-shot haze. "I have no musical ability whatsoever!"

"Yeah, for instruments," Irvine had replied. "But you can't trick me. I've heard you sing before, an you've got a pretty voice."

"I-when did you ever hear me sing?" she'd stuttered, still digging her feet into the floor and tried to remember when she had ever broken into song in public . This was easier said than done, as she was wearing a pair of smooth-soled heels which slid across the floor like ice skates.

"When you think nobody's looking," said Irvine. "Just like everything else you do. Now, are you gonna sing or am I gonna have to make you drink another round of Wise Men?"

Quistis was predisposed to tactical decision-making, even when neck-deep in Tequila, and Irvine knew it. It was knowing she could not survive another Wise Men round that made her glare at Irvine, snatch the microphone, and stomp up the stairs, her long red hair swishing behind her. She gave Irvine her best glare, which was difficult to maintain when her friend was wearing the most ridiculous handlebar mustache she had ever seen- it was bushy and brown and extended a good seven inches in each direction, ending in a ridiculous curl.

Irvine had insisted on a 'Day of Disguise'.

For a few months after the second Sorceress war, none of them could go a square foot outside of Garden without being assaulted by a camera flash or having a microphone shoved in their face. Heroes were all in demand, especially those that photographed as well as a group of fresh-faced teenagers.

Rinoa positively gleamed in the limelight, handling interviews and photos with a practiced grace she must have inherited from her mother- Squall scowled at the paparazzi and mostly ignored them, and Zell and Selphie were mostly amused by the attention. Irvine, like Rinoa, positively shone in the limelight, although Quistis noticed that his smile turned down as soon as the cameras were off. So when Irvine sensed Quistis's reluctance to go out and face the press yet again even if it meant a day off from paperwork, he had suggested the idea of disguises.

Although doubtful at first, Quistis soon found herself really getting into the idea of a disguise, even going so far as to borrow a few things from Xu's closet. Irvine had gone to a local shop and purchased a strange-looking top hat and a stick-on beard for himself, and had bought Quistis a long wig the color of ripe strawberries with a feather boa to match. They had often worn the disguises afterwards, even after the media attention had ebbed- there was something purely cathartic about being another person for a day. Donning their clothing that first night, Quistis felt a kind of freedom she'd never felt before. She was no longer Quistis Trepe, but 'Angora Scarlett', as Irvine had named her, an untameable lady of the Centrian Shores off to seek her fortune and experiment heavily with women (Irvine had been adamant about the last part).

Without Irvine, Quistis was very aware that she would have become an entirely different person than she had; or, rather, that she would have stayed exactly the same. She would have done her duty, would have been been a career soldier and had a social life born of only the most mandatory of occasions, which for the first few years, would have consisted mostly of weddings and state dinners. She would have been the person that carried bouquets as weddings and never caught them, the girl who made tasteful toasts and said all the right things. She probably would have pursued politics after her body became too slow for mercenary work, and she would have made a few small, notable contributions before someday fading into the obscurity of old age, winding up a statue on some memorial that gathered moss as years rolled by.

She would not have become the kind of person that planned outings for her friends, the kind of person that quit her job and dared to envision a life different than the one she had been raised and conditioned to expect- the kind of girl that rode on the back of a motorcycle with a former enemy and drank wine out of jelly jars. This version of what she was capable of becoming laughed more, cried more, and took more calculated risks than was entirely reasonable.

This version drank tequila and sang karaoke.

Holding the microphone and staring out at the crowd that first time, Quistis had felt a surprising absence of fear- not because she considered herself to be an impeccable singer, but simply because it didn't matter. Angora Scarlett would disappear after tonight- nothing could hold her, not pain, not regret, and certainly not a silly little embarrassment about screwing up a few notes in front of a crowd. She didn't exist, and what did anything matter to an illusion?

And so she'd sang. And the world hadn't ended because she'd gone a little flat at the end, or mixed up down and 'around' in the second refrain, and when the crowd had applauded, she'd smiled and taken a little bow, looking out at Arcanus Bombastus, (Irvine), who was wearing a gigantic grin and giving her a standing ovation complete with wolf whistle.

She'd fallen in love with him then, not as a brother or a lover, but as something much more profound- as someone that had given her freedom over herself.

She supposed, in retrospect, that Fisher King had given her the same thing, and it was part of why she had fallen for him, too.

Tonight, she stood on the stage not as Angora Scarlett, but as Quistis Trepe, and when she looked out into the sea of faces, she still wasn't afraid.

There was no Irvine there, wearing a fur overcoat and shouting her name, and the familiar clenching feeling around her heart followed. But there was Zell, and Selphie, Squall and Rinoa, and next to Rinoa, Xu, toasting her with a yard of beer as long as her leg and whooping at her to start already.

She'd told them the story about Angora Scarlett and Acanus Bombastus, and after hearing it, all of her friends had demanded to hear her sing. And though it was not her intention, with a little prodding, she'd gotten up on the stage, took the microphone, and sang the same song she'd sang for Irvine, long ago.

She sang it for him now, too, and for herself, and if the words tasted just a little bitter on her tongue, well, it was because once they had been sweet, too.

And at the end, her friends led the crowd in a standing ovation; Rinoa, Selphie and Zell whooping and yelling, and Quistis was startled to hear a wolf-whistle from Squall, who was grinning at her, too.

There was pain there inside her, yes, wanting Irvine to be there among them so badly she could taste it, but there was joy, too, knowing all her friends had come there to be with her tonight, and in the days ahead.


	62. Chapter 62

Seifer had been preparing to go out when he received an unexpected guest at the door.

The first snow hadn't fully covered the boardwalk yet, and the dog loved to chase the gulls in the harbor. Aside from the lure of fresh air, there was also the basic fact that he needed to get out of the house- it had been more than a week since Quistis had been in his kitchen, fucking up the chopping of vegetables, playing Frisbee with vagrant, and licking chocolate frosting off her fingers, but somehow, he couldn't seem to get the image of her there out of his head.

It was therefore an understatement to say he was surprised when he opened the door and saw Quistis Trepe standing here on his front step grappling with a large parcel in her arms, when only minutes before he had been ruminating about how to get her there.

She nearly dropped the package in surprise- he, in turn, at her for a moment.

Vagrant, however, had accepted this turn of events without question, and when Quistis didn't immediately reach down and pet him (her hands being otherwise occupied) he set to licking her leg.

"Sorry, didn't hear you knock," he finally managed.

"Oh…I didn't," she said, and it was then that he noticed the fair amount of snowflakes that had gathered in her hair and lashes. She had been standing outside for some time. _Why_?

"You want to come in?"

She hesitated at the doorway. "I...no, thank you. I just wanted to give you the notice that as of next week, I'll no longer be your caseworker."

_**What**_?

"You won't?"

"Not anymore," she said. "So you can finally throw that party you've been-"

"Why won't you?" he interrupted her.

She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I...well, I'm leaving Garden, for now," she said. "I handed in my notice last week. It's a temporary leave- one year."

"The hell'd you do that for?"

"Oh, well, I don't know...I suppose I had a little...inspiration in imagining a life without Garden," she said, shifting her armload and handing him a sheet of folded paper. "Your new caseworker is going to be Julia Welsh, and she's a very nice young SeeD, so try to play nicely, okay? If you don't, I'm afraid they might send Xu, next." She smiled at him. "Given your status, however, and your continued compliance, I'm certain they'll only continue the surveillance for another three years, at most. That is, if you continue to _behave_ yourself."

"No promises," he said, shoving the paper into his pocket. "So, what're you gonna do now?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Who knows? At first I thought of going to Timber, but now, I think I'd like to stick around here for awhile."

He leaned against the door frame. "So let me get this straight- you came over just to tell me you won't be coming over anymore?" he said.

"Not only that," she said. "I...wanted to say goodbye, too."

"Oh," he said. "Well..."

_Tell her, you idiot. Just tell her!_

"Goodbye," they said at exactly the same time.

Quistis laughed- Seifer, however, didn't much feel like laughing.

_You complete chickenshit,_ he thought disgustedly at himself.

"Oh, and I wanted to give you this." she said, handing over the large parcel. It was wrapped in layer upon layer of butcher paper, and it took him awhile to get it all off. When he did, however, he was shocked at the familiar gleam of silver that lay beneath.

"Hyperion..." he frowned. "But it was-"

"Stolen? Yes, I'd heard about that as well, it was in the paper." she said, smiling. "Unfortunate that it went missing, isn't it? I hear it was a real war relic. Personally, I've always been of the opinion that a man should hang his sword up himself."

He fell in love with her then- he knew he did, because his world became a tunnel with her at the end of it. He might have still been holding the sword, Vagrant's tail might have been banging against his thigh, but in that moment, all he could see was her. All he wanted to see was her, every day, for the rest of his life.

_Could a person's world change so profoundly in the span of a second?_

_Apparently, it could._

**_Tell her._**

But she wasn't quite finished. "Their first thought was you, of course, but you were confirmed to be on the Siren at the time of the break-in. Somebody had spray-painted pro-Sorceress propaganda on the walls, painted mustaches on all the figurines of the Liberi Fatali. Though I think Squall looked rather distinguished with a handlebar mustache."

He gaped at her, at a loss for words. "You...how did you do it?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "I could break into the Galbadian Presidential Palace when I was thirteen, Seifer. A war memorial wasn't exactly difficult, and neither was making it coincide with one of your voyages. And, speaking of your absence- in a curious coincidence, the Siren at that time would have been off the south Trabian shore, where, also curiously, the remains of a known pirate ship, the Plunder, was found scattered along the coastline." Her gaze was penetrating now. "In fact, a lot of the Siren's voyages coincide with the discovery of known rogue ships, or should I say…pieces of them."

His gut twisted. "You-"

Her hands now freed from holding the heavy sword, Quistis had leaned down to pet Vagrant, who nearly twisted out of his skin in an effort to get as close to her as possible. "Yes, Seifer, I figured it out. Who else was going to pay attention to the routes of one insignificant fishing vessel?" Her eyes narrowed. "I know that in addition to your fishing trips, you and your crew find time to collect the bounties on known criminals in international waters, and in your leisure time, when you aren't pulling up nets of tuna, you're sinking rogue vessels. I know that Ernst Simonsen was once a freedom fighter in Timber, and decided to carry on his work in his retirement. Celsior Clemment, formerly Siev Anglor, was once a Red Ops agent for Galbadia before deserting, Miggs, or rather, Jered Miggs, used to work for the Forest Owls as a spy, and Sam Brunet, well, he once blew up an entire Estharian weapons factory while working for the Galbadian government."

"They never…" Seifer frowned. "A _freedom_ fighter? Jack said he was an accountant."

Quistis shrugged. "People have a lot of sides, Seifer."

_Did they ever._

He looked at her, wary. "You're going to report me, then?"

"If I were going to take you in, do you think I would have given you the advantage of a sword?" She laughed, scratching Vagrant's ears, but Seifer didn't dare relax just yet. "Balamb Garden, given our very limited naval capability, is perfectly happy to allow someone else to handle security in international waters, so long as legitimate vessels are left alone. I think your captain knows well enough what will happen if he oversteps his boundaries."

Vagrant was now all but sprawled out on the front step, his tongue lolling out in abandon as Quistis enthusiastically scratched his belly. But Seifer was too distracted to feel jealous at the dog just then. "Over the years, Cid has learned that Garden's resources are best pooled to those who can compensate us for our efforts. The Sorceress war nearly bankrupted him- Cid's in no hurry to chase rogue sects for free, not when they carry such minor fringe benefits and when men like Ernst Simonsen are so willing to take up the slack."

"You-" he trailed off, unable to conceive of a Quistis Trepe that had walked into the Sorceress War Memorial, blasted open a security case, and stolen government property, much less a Quistis that more or less knew he was a pirate and was not reporting him for it. "Why'd you do it?" he asked, gesturing to the sword, because he didn't think he'd ever understand the latter.

"Because I don't think you wanted it anymore," she replied. "I thought it might be a good time for you to have it again. Think of it as…a late birthday present."

He was pretty sure that he could live forever and never figure out how that mind of hers worked.

"I...thanks," he told her, unsure of what he was thanking her for.

_For the sword? For stopping by? For existing? _

_Probably everything._

She just smiled, giving Vagrant one last pat as she got to her feet. "...I'd better go."

Was that reluctance in her voice, or just what he hoped to hear?

"Maybe I'll see you around?"

_Hard to keep the hope out of his voice._

"It's a small town, " she replied over her shoulder, waving. "You never know."

_That's right_, he thought. _You never know._


	63. Chapter 63

**To: Fisher_King (fisherking33guardianhearts,com)**

**From: Lady_Shallot (ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)**

**Re: new beginnings**

_I officially quit my job today. I packed up all of my worldly possessions into a couple of cardboard boxes, and they threw a big going-away party for me. My boss said that I'm always welcome to come back, of course, and who knows? Maybe I will- maybe that job is the only work I'm cut out to do- I don't know. But I'm going to find out. _

_There were so many tears and flowers and food and hugs that by the end of the party, I almost felt as if I was attending a funeral. _

_But I guess I was, in a way- the death of my old life._

_I've moved all my little cardboard boxes into my brand new apartment, and as I sit here on the floor in the kitchen (my furniture has not arrived yet), blinded by the glare of freshly washed linoleum and enjoying my second glass of one of my parting gifts (a big, ridiculously expensive red zinfandel), it almost feels as if I really did attend my own funeral today. My old life is gone. The version of me I've been trying for all these years is gone, and Im left with only myself (whoever that is) and the world is wide open before me (whatever that actually means). And to tell you the truth, right now, its as frightening as it is liberating._

_You know what my friend said to me before he died? He said, dont be afraid. _

_I wonder, did he mean, 'dont be afraid of death', or 'dont be afraid of living'? Even now Im not sure. But thats the thing, isnt it? Im terrified. I suppose I've been called brave in the strictest sense of the word, but it's always been the mundane that's scared me, not the extraordinary- and in that sense, I've never really been brave at all._

_Still, maybe its the good kind of fear- the kind of fear you were talking about- like searching for monsters under the bed or believing in dragons...believing in a future that's exciting and a little scary._

_I never could have done it without you. _

_...thank you._


	64. Chapter 64

"Hey, Almasy, get your head outta the clouds and hand me that crate," Migg's craggy face peered down at him from the ship, his arms outstretched for the box of supplies.

Blinking, Seifer hefted up the heavy crate he'd been holding.

"Where's your head at today, anyway?"

Seifer shrugged.

Migg's eyes narrowed with a kind of cleverness Seifer didn't think he was capable of possessing. "This about that pretty little thing you brought to the market coupla weeks ago?" Miggs hefted another bag onto the deck. "How'd you manage to land her, anyway? Last I saw of 'er, she pretty near punched your lights out- didn't look like she liked you much, then."

"I didn't 'land' her," replied Seifer crankily, handing the last of the crates aboard. "It's all fucking fishing metaphors with you people, isn't it?"

The crew was going on an expedition for tuna, and would not return for at least four weeks. The knowledge that he wouldn't be seeing her for awhile had put a huge damper on his plans…and his spirit, apparently, as he'd been getting harassed pretty heavily all day by his coworkers. Not that his plans hadn't been dampened up until the voyage- Quistis hadn't stopped by at all since stopping by to announce her early retirement, and short of violating his parole (he would rather stick needles in his eyes than deal with Yiang again), he didn't have a fucking clue as to how to contact her. The SeeD that had replaced her was young and cute and could barely look him in the eye, and had no idea where 'Instructor Trepe' had gone.

True, it was a small town, but he didn't want to resort to stalking her.

And damnitall, how was he supposed to seduce the woman if she didn't even stop by?

"Earth to Almasy!" Cel and Sam had now joined Miggs, and the three men were staring down at him with amused expressions on their face.

"Still mooning over that princess of yours?" asked Sam.

"Oh, is _that_ what's got his panties in a twist?" asked Cel, leaning over the railing.

It occurred to Seifer in that moment just how thoroughly all the men hovering above him would benefit from being punched in the face.

Sam's eyes twinkled. "Well, in that case, why not check out your local library when we get back?"

Miggs snorted. "Yeah, never know what you'll find at your local library...especially on a Wednesday afternoon."

"What the fuck are you morons babbling about?" snapped Seifer.

Captain Jack's gravelly voice boomed across the deck, making half the men jump. "Get your asses back to work, before I stick a hook in your throats and hang you out for bait! Oh, and tell 'lover boy' I want him in my quarters, now!"

Oh, _shit_.


	65. Chapter 65

Quistis absently tapped her paintbrush against her arm, feeling the silkiness of the bristle hairs and the stubble of the ends as a kind of soothing, rhythmic swish against her skin. Her hair had been piled up behind a red handkerchief, and she'd picked up a worn flannel shirt and some man's work coveralls at the second hand store in town for the day's activities. They were a little big- one strap of the coveralls kept sloping over her shoulder.

Outside, there was an unfamiliar jumble of sounds; one layer ocean water, another the sound of voices on the street, yet another the call of gulls across the harbor. The townhouse she was renting was just a little steep, rent-wise, but she'd been saving since she was a cadet and was confident she'd find something in town soon enough to supplement her cost. Fortunately, the previous tenants had left behind their appliances, although Quistis admittedly had no experience in using an oven, and was only partially confident in the use of the microwave. Thus far, she had tried a bag of popcorn, a cup of soup, and a mug of tea, all with encouraging success.

She'd been willing to pay the higher rent that came with owning a bigger place- (she'd spent more than enough time rolled up like a sardine in her dorm at Garden)- but to have two large bedrooms, a sizable kitchen, and an open living room was almost more space than she knew how to deal with. She'd purchased a couple of pieces of furniture already and was glad she'd had the foresight to have them shipped to the house when she'd moved in, even if they'd been a day late: two couches, a chair, and a dining room table as well as a bed had arrived that day. (The kitchen chairs were supposed to arrive in a week.) She moved them around fitfully, not sure exactly how a living room was supposed to look. Pictures on the walls would come next, she supposed. That was what normal people did, wasn't it? They had throw rugs and pictures on their walls, a welcome mat and a place for guests to hang jackets.

As a little girl, she'd always imagined having a kitchen window with a large windowsill on it that she could put pies and flower boxes, and the townhouse had a lovely little window above the sink where she'd already placed a row of African Violets in different shades of plum and pink. That much was done, at least.

Now, she thought, tapping out a beat with her brush, should it be blue, cream, or green on the kitchen walls?

Last night, unable to sleep, she'd paced the wide open spaces of the house, familiarizing herself with the exits, the rhythm and flow of the building. Two bedrooms upstairs and a bath- intruders could be shoved down the stairs, impaled on the coat rack. The second story was low enough that she could jump with minimal impact, but not so low she couldn't break someone's spine with the impact if necessary.

She caught herself planning a hostile exit strategy at two in the morning and shook her head at herself, half-amused and a little horrified.

Old habits died hard, she supposed. She supposed she would always be a mercenary first and whatever else second- that the killer in her always lingering just one step behind, dogging her step like a second shadow.

_You could stop being a soldier on paper, but it clung to you everywhere else..._

Noise made her turn sharply in the direction of the doorway. Squall and Zell were dragging through an end table and a lamp respectively, while Selphie and Rinoa edged in behind them, their arms laden with sacks of groceries.

She relaxed her hold on the paintbrush, which she belated realized she had flipped to grip like a dagger during the interruption.

"It's the welcome wagon!" exclaimed Rinoa, setting the groceries on the counter and enfolding Quistis in a big hug. "We figured you hadn't had time to go grocery shopping yet, so we brought you some stuff for your fridge."

"We heard you needed more furniture, too, so we stole...I mean, 'borrowed', no wait, 'found it lying around'," amended Zell, at Squall's dirty look. "In Norg's old office," he finished under his breath, setting it down.

"So, what are we doing today?" asked Squall, as he and Zell set down the end table in the living room.

"We?" repeated Quistis, frowning. "I was going to paint today, but I can do that lat-"

"Painting!" exclaimed Selphie. "Oh good! I always wanted to paint something big! We could do a purple glitter in the bedroom, and then a bright yellow in the kitchen, you know, like a banana-"

"Sorry Selphie, but it looks like 'seafoam green', 'sandy topaz', and 'bay blue' are the colors of the day," said Rinoa, holding up a paint can. "Well, where are your rollers, Quisty? Let's get started! The sooner we finish, the sooner we can grill! And I brought this wine from Timber, its an aged cherry wine, its super sweet, and I wanted to try it with-"

"Grill? But I don't have-"

There was a loud crash outside, followed by a muffled curse.

"That'll be the grill," muttered Squall, rubbing at his scar. "That's the second time Zell's dropped it."

Sure enough, when Quistis glanced out the window, there was Zell with a kind of saucer-like disk, struggling to get it up the steps and cursing all the way.

"It's an outdoor-fireplace-slash-grill- it can go on your porch and everything and it won't burn your house down! At least, that's what the pamphlet said," said Selphie, leaning over her shoulder. "We brought hot dogs and marshmallows and everything!"

"You all don't have to-" started Quistis, but Squall was already shrugging out of his jacket, and Rinoa was pulling up her hair into a ponytail. It was possible they were as excited about the prospect of a home without jet engines and anti-grav stabilizers beneath it as she was.

Selphie also waved her off. "Oh, don't worry, the sooner we get you set up here, the sooner we can start inviting ourselves over all the time! This is going to be party palace headquarters!"

Quistis could only watch, dumbfounded, as Rinoa began to fill her fridge with food and Selphie started on laying strips of protective tape around the doorways and windowpanes, still muttering about a bedroom full of purple glitter paint. Squall, meanwhile, had taken off his jacket and begun laying tarp across the furniture.

Quistis smiled, feeling her eyes burn for a moment at the thought of having her friends, no, her _family_, here with her more often, but a shout and a loud crash shook her out of her private moment.

Zell had dropped the grill again...this time on his foot.


	66. Chapter 66

Seifer had never exactly felt comfortable in Jack's cabin, but he supposed that was the point. Only a maniac like Jack would feel comfortable in a room lined with a collection of skulls, (which Seifer thought he had mostly inherited from the last captain...mostly), some of which still had gold teeth glinting in the lamplight others that had spiderwebs build inside the eye sockets: books, a pink feather boa that was rumored to be a gift from the legendary hooker Tendrasta, before she chopped off his ring finger. There was also an old gramophone that scratched out old, warbled melodies on equally ancient records if you kicked it enough.

Cel glanced over his shoulder as Seifer entered, and gave him a shrug. Apparently, whatever it was, they were both in trouble for it.

"Sit down," ordered Jack, turning in his chair. He had just finished coughing, and wiped at his face with a handkerchief. The little poodle was in his lap, looking as ornery and bloodthirsty as ever. The common thinking on the ship was that the poodle was not long for this world, (a thought that troubled no one, as the dog had bitten everyone on the ship at least once.)

Seifer sat, supposing that he was about to get more of the same thing that he'd gotten on deck- pay attention, get your head out of your ass, go get a damned hooker if you can't keep your head separated from your dick-

"I'm dying," said Jack.

_Well, that wasn't what he expected._

"Come again?" repeated Seifer dumbly.

"You need a hearing aid, in addition to a new damned brain?" barked Jack. At its master's irritation, the little poodle sat up in his lap and growled. "I'm dying."

"Why?" Cel blurted.

"None of your damned business," replied the old man nastily, clearing his throat.

"I…uh, sorry?" Seifer scrambled for something to say.

"Don't be sorry, you dipshit, I'm eighty-seven fuckin' years old- didya think I was gonna live forever?"

Cel's eyes were wide. "You're 87? Holy shit! I thought you were sixty five, tops. What are you, some sorta cranky guardian force?"

"Boy, you might be legally retarded. Now shut up!" The poodle barked. Seifer wasn't sure, but he was pretty sure the thing was almost entirely blind now, given that it had just barked at a chair across the room instead of the two of them."The point is, I can't stay around and wipe your asses forever. 'Sides, it's about time I got around to seeing my old Tandrasta."

"Didn't Tandrasta cut off two of your fingers and give you crabs?" asked Cel.

Jack rolled his eyes. "You're missin' the point."

"I'm sorry, what _was_ the point?" asked Seifer.

If looks could kill, the old man and the poodle could have rendered them both dead with three eyes between them. "You two have got to be the biggest idiots I ever met. Now shut up and listen, before I change my mind. After I've kicked the can, I want you two to take over the ship."

Both men blinked at him.

Jack sighed. "I know you're both morons, and truth be told, you'll probably sink the damned thing in a week-" The captain's lament was cut off momentarily as he dissolved into a hacking cough, doubling over with the force of the spasms.

Both young men jumped to their feet. Cel hurried to get the captain a glass of water (which Seifer suspected was actually gin), and Seifer helped Jack to sit up once the fit was through, easing the cup to his lips. It was a testament to how tired the man was that he did not protest the fuss they were making over him.

They had heard the old man coughing increasingly lately, but had thought that had more to do with the seasonal cold that had circulated around the ship than anything serious. However, when Jack finally took his hand away from his mouth, Seifer noticed a thin film of blood covering his fist. The old man followed Seifer's gaze before quickly dropping his hand to his side. "Anyway, the point is…where the hell was I?"

"You were dying?" supplied Cel helpfully.

Seifer kicked him.

"Yeah, well, you two dumbshits are the closest things I have to sons, an' Sam doesn't have the balls, Reg doesn't have the brains, and if I'm gonna give the ship to Miggs I might as well just burn the hynedamned thing down right now. It's all in the will, anyway, so it'll take effect when I kick it- Seifer'll be captain, and Cel, you'll back him up, and if you two fuck up my good name I swear by all that's holy I'll haunt you both in the afterlife."

Both young men stared at Jack...neither knowing what to say.

"That's all, then," said the old man, with his usual frankness. "Now, get the hell out of my office before I change my mind."

It was the closest either men got to a goodbye.

Two weeks into the voyage, the dog died. The crew all adopted a somber silence, though, in all honesty, Seifer was pretty sure that each man on the ship was holding his own one-man party. Jack had gotten completely drunk on gin and wrapped the thing in an old tarp, with the intention of doing Hyne-knew-what when they got ashore. Miggs swore the ghost of the dog would haunt the ship.

Three weeks into the voyage, they heard the gramophone playing long into the night, and in the morning, neither the old man (nor the tarp-wrapped corpse of the ornery poodle) was in the cabin. After backtracking the ship's course for a good three hours, the crew was forced to accept that Jack and the poodle had gone overboard sometime during the night, and were now forever lost at sea.

Even at the lowest point in his life, Seifer had never given much thought to the concept of suicide, but apparently Jack had, and the man had decided to be done with the universe before the universe was done with him. There was a kind of beauty in that, Seifer supposed, if in fact there was anything pretty about death at all.

As the ship sailed back to shore, the crew had decided to pay tribute to Jack and had hauled the gramophone onto the deck, letting the scratchy old records keep time to the waves and the rock of the ship. They told stories: about the things Jack used to say, about the time he stole a crate of fireworks from Esthar and lit them off in the House of Hyne, causing the priestesses to run out screaming in various stages of dress, about the time he stole a parrot belonging to a wealthy Estharian businessman and taught it every curse word he knew before returning it in time for a state dinner. Over the years, it seemed, Jack had seen (and caused) more than his share of shit.

Seifer spent most of the day camped out at the beak of the ship.

He didn't know how to feel about all of it- on one hand, the man was old and apparently sick as hell, though he'd hid it well the past few months, and his passing had no doubt been a release of some kind. On the other, Jack was the one that had taken a chance on him after the war, that had given him a job and a kind of dysfunctional family that every other day Seifer wanted to throttle- most importantly, he'd given him the prospect of a life not steeped in failure and regret. The old man had been the first to believe in him, and was a kind of father to him and Cel, (albeit in a cranky, irritable, and curmudgeon-like father, which was still a vast improvement over the father he'd been born with.)

He knew now why he had been so easily enfolded into the group- nearly all of the men on the ship had pasts, had done things they most likely wanted to escape. Seifer had been just one more scarred sailor trying to lose his memory at sea.

On the whole, Seifer wasn't sure about how to feel about being captain. Though the rest of the crew seemed fine with Jack's decision, (he'd received a lot of good-natured ribbing and a lot of pats on the back), Seifer had been in no real hurry to obtain power of any kind after the war- in all honesty, it was a relief to work under someone with some measure of integrity, someone with a direction, someone that didn't try to flay him alive daily for fucking up.

And besides, hadn't he already proved how much of an idiot he was when it came to power? What the hell had made Jack think he would be good at this? He would have passed the title over to Cel in a heartbeat, except for the fact that Cel wanted to lead even less than Seifer did. In addition, Seifer could not help but feel that to not do as Jack asked would be an insult to his memory, and Seifer owed the old man more than he could put into words. Instead, he looked back down at the waves.

The dolphins were back and chasing the ship again, and this time, when Sora broke the water, grinning her familiar toothy grin at him, there was a small, silver shape next to her- she'd had a baby over the past few months. The little calf dove alongside her, his mother in miniature except for the scarred fin; his bright, dark eyes fixed on the boat, on Seifer as he threw a handful of sardines into the water.

On impulse, Seifer decided to call him Jack.


	67. Chapter 67

A/N: The book Quistis is reading from is "The Princess Bride"...one of my favorites.

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It always took Seifer a few days to get used to being back on shore, to orient his legs and his lungs before he felt like leaving the house. This was just as well, as it also took a few days before getting the stink of fish guts and anise oil out of his clothes and he was _fit_ to leave the house.

Freshly shaved and smelling only slightly of the brine and stale stink of the ship, Seifer headed out to town, enjoying the warm spring breeze that now circulated the streets and the feeling of the sun on his shoulders. Balamb had now shed the thin winter coat of snow it had accumulated over the past two months, and the fields were beginning to turn a familiar shade of deep, bright green again.

Balamb- its scalloped blue streets and buildings looking like polished stones in the sunlight- Balamb, with its tiny markets and the train station always busy with people coming, people going, people coming back again. When he was younger, the town had seemed so small, so petty and cramped, but now...now it seemed big enough to build a future around...provided you had the right person to build it with.

Seifer often took shortcuts to get to the docks in the morning, and one of those shortcuts took him through the street in back of the library. He stopped there now, pausing in front of the doors and mulling over his coworkers words.

_Never know what you'll find at your local library..._

Go to the library on a Wednesday? What the fuck had Miggs meant? Was this some sort of joke? He was going to pay those assholes back in full if it was.

In fact, he was about to forget the whole thing leave when he heard something that made him pause.

One of the side windows was open, and he could hear a voice reading aloud within.

A very familiar voice that froze him in his tracks and made his heart rate speed up in that stupid way that he could neither understand nor seem to stop.

"That's all you need? Easy. I love you. Okay? Want it louder? I love you. Spell it out, should I? I ell-oh-vee-ee-why-oh you. Want it backwards? You love I."

"You are teasing now; aren't you?"

"A little maybe; I've been saying it so long to you, you just wouldn't listen. Every time you said 'Farm Boy do this' you thought I was answering ' As you wish' but that's only because you were hearing wrong. 'I love you' was what it was, but you never heard, and you never heard."

He followed the voice inside, there was Quistis, sitting cross-legged on the floor in a long white summer dress and a light cardigan, wearing her reading glasses and a cheap rhinestone crown on top of her head.

She was beautiful.

Several children were clustered around her feet, and one little boy no older than three had plopped himself down directly in her lap. Some of the listeners were quite small and sitting in a parent's lap, but most were about five or six. All were watching her with rapt attention, and all were wearing some sort of costume. A few children clutched plastic or wooden swords at their sides, while others wore elaborate tiara's and fancy gowns of gauzy pinks and purples. Clearly, the children had dressed for the occasion, and from the glimmer of the crown on Quistiss head, so had she.

There were some adults in the crowd, too, probably parents, in the back, and a few older people that seemed to have just stopped to listen, smiling and nodding as she read. Seifer joined them near the back.

Quistis turned a page. "He reached out with his right hand. Buttercup found it very hard to breathe." Here, she caught her breath dramatically, causing the little boy on her lap to giggle.

Seifer edged a little closer, leaning up against a low bookshelf as he listened, causing it to creak. A few people looked up.

Quistis also looked up as she turned the page...and met his eyes.

He smiled at her, and she faltered for a moment.

"Hey Miss T, what happens next?" piped up one of the kids.

"Yeah, why'd you stop?" asked another.

The little boy in her lap reached up and patted her cheek to get her attention. Quistis flushed and went back to reading.

"Good-by. She managed to raise her right hand to his. They shook. Good-by, he said again. She made a little nod. He took a third step, not turning. She watched him. He turned. And the words ripped out of her: Without one kiss?"

Giggles from the girls.

"They fell into each other's arms," Quistis read on dramatically.

Groans from the boys. Seifer resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

Quistis laughed knowingly and turned the page.

"There have been five great kisses since 1642 BC when Saul and Delilah Korn's inadvertent discovery swept across Western Civilization. Before then, couples hooked thumbs, and the precise rating of kisses is a terribly difficult thing, often heading to great controversy, because although everyone agrees with the formula of affection times purity times intensity times duration, no one has ever been completely satisfied with how much weight each element should receive. But on any system, there are five that everyone agrees deserve full marks."

Quistis smiled. "Wellthis one left them all behind."

She closed the book amidst groans of disappointment. "And that's where we'll leave it, for now," she said, smiling amongst the moaning and pleading that rose at her announcement. "But this isn't the end! We still have to get through a death, a kidnapping, some pirates, and of course, the terrible swamp of Rodents of Unusual Size. I hope to see you all tomorrow!" The little boy climbed off her lap, grinning, and took his mothers hand, who thanked Quistis before they left.

As the small crowd was dispersing, a few children wandered up to the front. "So Missus T?" said a little girl no higher than Seifer's knee. "That story's gonna have a happy ending, right?"

"We'll just have to wait and see, won't we? Will I see you tomorrow, Anna?"

The little girl nodded and hugged Quistis around the waist before running off to her mother, who was waiting in the back for her.

As the small crowd filed out, Quistis set the book beside her basket and waved goodbye to the children, most of whom she seemed to know by name, and who, in turn, seemed very fond of her.

He resisted a laugh.

_The Trepies were still alive and just shrunk a few feet._

Seifer waited until the crowd milled away before approaching her.

"That's funny. I didn't figure you for a fairy tail enthusiast," she said.

He shrugged. "You'd be surprised."

_Would you ever_, he thought.

"You're a hard person to find," he said instead.

She raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware anyone was looking for me."

_And how could he respond to that? _

"Well, I never really thanked you for, well, you know," he finished, thinking that it was probably a bad idea to say 'the sword you stole from the museum' out loud.

She shook her head, an enigmatic little smile on her face. "No thanks necessary."

"Yeah, well, I wanted to. How'd you end up here, anyway?"

"Long term sub position," she replied. "The current librarian had a heart condition, apparently, and the doctor advised her to take a sabbatical. It's only for a few months."

"I see. Nice crown." He gestured to the plastic tiara on top of her head.

She smiled, pulling the plastic crown from her hair. "I find that the kids get more involved in the story if we all dress the part. Her eyes narrowed in that mischievous way that indicated she was thinking of making a joke at his expense. "Why, did you want a tiara, too?" She held hers out.

"I'll pass. Big change from blowing shit up to the Dewey decimal system, I expect.

Yes, well, that was sort of the point, I suppose, she said. "Anyway, we're just getting to the part with the pirates. You should come back tomorrow. You never know, you might learn something."

He grinned. "Maybe I will. You want to run into each other, tomorrow, say, twelve o' clock?"

"That would be nice," she said, smiling. "I get off at noon in time for lunch- it's my short day."

"Lunch it is, then," he said.

She picked up a stack of books and brought them to the front desk. "So how have you been, Seifer?"

_Oh, you know, frustrated, pissed off, my boss died and left me with a ship to run-_

"Fine. You?"

"Oh. Well, you know, I've been working here for about a month, and I've got a little place down the way. Its by the docks, actually."

She conveniently left out that if she got up early enough, she could see Seifer and Cel and the others loading on the docks, and that she had gotten up early once or twice for that very reason.

"You enjoying not being at Garden?"

"It's...different, but yes, I think I like it. Selphie and the others call and drop by often, and Rinoa usually stays with me when Garden deploys, so really, most of the time it's like I haven't really left at all. Still, sometimes I miss the pace of Garden, hearing voices at all hours of the night...you get used to it, you know?"

"You'll get used to this, too," he told her.

"I hope so."

"Well," he said, adjusting his duffel bag, "See you tomorrow, then?"

"I'll be here," she told him, smiling.

As Seifer walked down the streets, he had to fight a grin.

_Maybe he didn't need to punch Miggs, after all._


	68. Chapter 68

**To: Lady_Shallot (****ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)**

**From: Fisher_King ****(fisherking33guardianhearts,com)**

**re****: Meeting?**

_Let's meet on the southeastern docks, Tuesday, at sunset. _

**...**

**...**

**...**

**..**

**.**

**..**

**...**

**...**

**...**

**To: Fisher_King ****(fisherking33guardianhearts,com)**

**From: Lady_Shallot ****(ladyshallot14guardianhearts,com)**

**Re: re: meeting**

_A troubled writer once wrote, "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." _

_And we have, haven't we? But I think you're right- it's time to take the masks off._

_I suppose all good things must come to an end, and this time, perhaps with the expectation of something even better._

_Tomorrow it is- I'll be there._


	69. Chapter 69

"So you're going to meet him on the docks at sunset? Today?" asked Seifer. They were walking through town together, grocery shopping at the market after a lunch of stone crabs and new potatoes. Seifer was carrying Quistis's bags without being asked, a favor she repaid by treating for ice cream cones at Bernsen's Candy Shoppe on the corner. "Sounds kind of sappy."

"That was the plan, yes," replied Quistis, trying to catch a trickle of butter pecan ice cream dashing down the length of her cone. "And it's not sappy at all- I think it's sort of romantic."

"Aren't you nervous?" asked Seifer, having inhaled his own strawberry cheesecake cone minutes earlier and resisting the temptation to catch the small dab of ice cream in the corner of her mouth (with his tongue).

"You know what? Not really. I suppose I feel like I know him already." She grinned, digging in her pocket for her keys. They were approaching her quaint little townhouse with the flower boxes in the window. "Besides, after dealing with you with so many years, I suppose nothing really surprises me anymore."

"Funny. So if he has three heads and eleven eyes?" asked Seifer.

"It wouldn't matter." she said, shrugging. "But he won't."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know...I just do."

Seifer handed her the grocery bags, one by one, and Quistis set them inside the door, wondering at the conflicting pull inside her. There was nervous excitement at what lay ahead, of course, but disappointment, too, that her day with Seifer was over...they were two halves of a whole, tugging at her as she turned back to take the last bag from him.

He paused, his hands now shoved in his pockets. "You know, sometimes I wonder...

"What?"

"If things had happened differently...if we'd never been at war with each other, would things have been different between us? Maybe I would have passed that stupid SeeD exam, maybe I would have asked you for a dance that night at the SeeD ball, and maybe you would have said yes, and we would never have fought about politics, or the weather-"

"Who fights about that?"

"I dunno. Not us."

"No," she agreed quietly. "Not us."

He wasn't quite looking at her. I mean, you can forgive this Fisher King guy for standing you up, but you can't forgive me for being on the other end of a sorceress." He paused. "Sometimes...I really wish you could."

"Seifer-" she began, but he was already waving her off.

"See you later, Quistis," he called back.

"See you later, Seifer," she said, even though he was already out of earshot. She stared after him for a moment before reluctantly unlocking her door and stepping inside, wondering why she still felt...disappointed.

The little townhouse was officially a home now. Her small collection of furniture from her Garden dorm was rounded out now by her bigger pieces- Selphie had bought a bundle of daisies that sat happily atop the end table they'd stolen- er, borrowed, from Norg. Thanks to the efforts of her friends, the house had walls of seafoam blue and sandy topaz, and the bathrooms were painted in a beautiful, pale shade of mint green.

Quistis stood in front of her closet for more than ten minutes before finally selecting the same blue-grey dress she'd worn that night at the Glass Slipper. It wasn't as if he'd actually ever gotten to see it, and Xu always said it brought out the color in her eyes.

And what had Seifer said?

That "_the skirt sped up the imagination, the shawl slowed it down - captivating, really_..."

Why was she thinking about Seifer at a time like this?

_...dangerous to answer that question._.._and it was pointless to ask it, wasn't it?_

**_..._Wasn't it?**

She left her hair down this time, forgoing an elaborate style because she knew the wind would simply unravel it the second she stepped out the door.

She took one brief look in the mirror on her way out and slung her purse on her arm. Unconsciously, she squared her shoulders as she walked down the street.

_This was it, then. _

_No turning back now._

_...hopefully, he'd show up this time._


	70. Chapter 70

A/N: Well, this is the end, my friends. I don't know how sad I can feel about this ending, as this entire story was supposed to be about four !#$ing chapters long. But then, look at F&I- that should have been the first sign that I cant write anything short (my other pen name on this website is altol- I needed to take a break from that handle for awhile, as there was a lot of unwanted drama surrounding it and my writing was always the one thing I counted on to be drama-free.) Most people already knew about my 'vacation' penname, I think, having come here from the S/Q community. Those of you that reviewed and said that my work was similar to altol's made me smile-I guess I have more of a writing style than I thought!

This story, though a lot longer than I planned, was also a lot more fun than I'd thought it would be (and a hell of a lot darker.) Thank you so much to all of you that have read along with me as I've plotted this out from the beginning, chapter by chapter- your reviews and comments have meant so much to me over the past few months- thank you! I have one more project planned, and then I'm going to wrap up Gods and Gardens, if I can (I'm never writing a story involving concepts of time and time travel ever again!) This last chapter once again borrows from the YGM plot, and the last line of Q's letter is actually from an old favorite video game of mine (kudos to those of you that recognize it!)

Also (I apparently can't write a short author's note, either): This story has 2 endings. I had the idea for them both around the same time, wrote them out with the intention of scrapping one, and then liked each enough in its own right that I kept both of them. You can pick whichever one you'd like to be the 'official' one.

Anyway, thanks for reading this far, and I hope you enjoy the rest!

_No words  
But tears won't make any room for more  
And it don't hurt like anything I've ever felt before  
This is no broken heart  
No familiar scars  
This territory goes uncharted_

_Just me in a room sunk down in a house in a town_  
_And I don't breathe_  
_Though I never meant to let it get away from me_  
_And now I've too much to hold_  
_Everybody has to get their hands on gold_  
_And I want uncharted_

_I'm stuck under the ceiling I made_  
_I can't help but feeling_  
_I'm going down_  
_Follow if you want or just hang around_  
_Like you'll show me where to go_  
_I'm already out of foolproof ideas_  
_So don't ask me how to get started_  
_It's all uncharted.._

-Sara Bareilles, Uncharted (I highly recommend this song as a soundtrack to this chapter!)

_Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She grew up on an island in the middle of an ocean with a group of other children like her- children without homes, without parents. And though night and day, the little girl was surrounded by others, she was still very lonely._

_The little girl's foster mother used to read her and the other children a story every night before bed. One night, she read a story about a princess in a tower, and how, after many years of wishing for someone to come and rescue her, a prince appeared and took her away to live happily after. The next day, the little girl wrote a letter to a white knight across the seas, asking him to come and rescue her and take her away. She rolled up the letter, tucked it into a bottle and sealed the cork with hot wax, then tossed it into the waves, watching as it disappeared, surely making its way to her knight in shining armor across the sea._

_Days passed, and nothing happened. And so the little girl wrote another letter. And another. She wrote a letter a day for an entire year, using every manner of jam jar, soda bottle, and prescription bottle she could get her hands on, watching as they bobbed out to sea and vanished into the happily-ever-after place she imagined was just beyond the water._

_But no answer ever came. _

_Eventually, the little girl stopped writing letters. _

_And she stopped believing in fairy tales._

_But the thing was, she never stopped wanting to believe. _

_And then she met you. _

_And she started to believe again. Not in fairy tales, but in just the simple act of **believing**._

_...and then...then I lost you…and I didn't want to believe anymore. It hurt too much when the story didn't end like I thought it should. The hero in the story isn't supposed to die, but then, when they say 'happily ever after' they don't tell you how long you get, do they? _

_If they had told me, I don't think I'd have enjoyed the story as much, anyway._

_You told me not to be afraid. At the time, I didn't know what you meant. Whether you meant not to be afraid of dying, or afraid of living, but I think maybe...maybe you meant all of it- of making friends, of growing to need someone, of having to say goodbye to them eventually. _

_You didn't want me to be afraid because the good is worth enduring the bad- because the scars we earn are there to remind us that time moves on with or without us- they remind us of what we lost...what we still have. I lost you, and it was terrible, but I know now how much worse it would have been to never know you at all. I survived losing you, and I know I can survive the rest...because I have._

_I wanted you to know that I'm not afraid anymore. _

_I want this letter to reach you, wherever you are._

_ I want you to know think of you every day._

_Until we meet again, take care of yourself, my friend-_

**_-Q_**

With hands that shook only a little, Quistis slipped the message into the green glass bottle and cast it into the water. It plunged and resurfaced, the green glass shining in the dark golden glare of the sunset.

It bobbed along, drawing further and further away from her- it almost felt like she was saying goodbye to a piece of herself.

_But it was in good hands._

She folded her arms around herself, watching as the bottle made its way out to sea. For the first time in a long time, sadness was not the most prominent in the bulk of the emotions she felt.

The wind caught at her skirt, tangling in her hair, but it was a warm breeze without the bite of winter behind it, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

When she opened them, the bottle had disappeared from view.

She remembered being a child then, watching those bottles float out to sea with her hopes and dreams bobbing along behind them, and she wanted to smile. Was she so different, now, placing her hopes and dreams in one person?

She heard a bark behind her, and turned, startled at the sound.

A familiar figure was galloping towards her on the docks, his tongue lolling out and ears flapping as he ran.

"Vagrant..." she gasped as he collided with her legs, whining and wriggling in his excitement. "But-"

She looked up, and there was Seifer making his way towards her, too, his hands in his pockets. For once, his characteristic smirk was entirely gone from his face.

"Seifer?"

_Meet me on the docks, at sunset..._

And the momentum of her world turned, just like that.

She couldn't speak, couldn't move- could only watch as he approached her, step by step, his expression careful and cautious.

Her body seemed to frozen, and even her heart might have stopped in that moment- she couldn't be sure. All her attention was for the man in front of her.

He stopped just short of her- there were only inches between them now. Not a computer between them, not a harbor, not a mask...just...inches.

And suddenly, it all made sense.

_Fisher King._

_The e-mails-_

_The clues-_

_He had never stood her up at all-_

"I-it was you," she said, in a voice she didn't recognize. "It was you...all this time."

He smiled at her, but it was guarded, him perhaps still a little wary of being punched or screamed at or thrown unceremoniously into the water.

But all she could do was look at him. A tear traced its way down her cheek, and for the first time in her life, she wasn't sure why she was crying. Was she happy? Sad?

_Or maybe, it was just too much…_

"Don't cry, Lady Shallot," he said reaching wipe the moisture from her face with a calloused fingertip.

And in that moment, that touch, she _knew_. She knew the answer to the question she had been so afraid to ask.

"I wanted it to be you," she whispered finally, half-smiling, the tears slipping from her in earnest now. "I wanted it to be you so badly."

And in response, he leaned in and kissed her.

It was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist- she nearly lost her balance, first gripping his arms for support, then giving up and throwing her arms around his neck. He was holding her as if his life depended on it, his arms around her and one hand buried in her hair, pressing them so closely together that there was scarcely space between them. This was good, because she wasn't sure if her feet were still on the ground.

Vagrant danced around them, barking exuberantly, the gravity of the moment lost in him entirely.

One hand moved down her back to rest at her waist, and there was nothing hesitant or shy about this kiss..._this_ was a kiss? Could something as simple as someone pressing their lips to yours feel this amazing?

_Yes_, she thought, _it could. _

_It did._

Dimly, she heard the sound of the waves, Vagrant's happy barks, and a few whooping cat calls by the fishermen drawing their boats back into the harbor. Embarrassed, she tried to pull back a little, but Seifer was having none of it- instead, he pulled her closer.

As Seifer straightened up she had to stand on her toes, which Seifer solved by simply lifting her up in his arms, ignoring the whoops, hollers, and now wolf-whistles that were now rising up around them, and after a moment, she decided she simply didn't care.

She knew that they should talk, that there were things that needed to be said, things that needed explaining, but for now, she wanted to stay where she was, maybe for an hour, maybe forever.

Seifer, meanwhile, felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. If kissing a drunk and desperate Quistis had felt good, there was no comparison to kissing a sober Quistis that had her arms wrapped around his neck, making some surprised sound in her throat as he swung her around, resting his forehead against hers.

Finally, when he realized he was trying to justify taking off that dress there in the harbor, he pulled back, loving the note of disappointment from her that followed as she tried to keep the kiss. She was looking up at him with all the affection that he probably didn't deserve, but desperately wanted.

She opened her mouth, perhaps to question why it had taken him so long to tell her, why he hadn't told her that night at the Glass Slipper-

"The Bloodsouls won the championship," she said, lacing her fingers around his neck.

_Smartass_.

He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, brushing her cheek with his thumb. "Then I guess I owe you a dinner, don't I?"

"I guess you do," she replied, biting her lip in a way that made him want to throw her over his shoulder like a caveman and carry her straight back to his house. She paused. "...do they deliver?"

He grinned down at her- it was like she'd read his mind.

Bending, he scooped her up at the knees and hefted her into his arms, and it wasn't raining and she wasn't throwing up or crying, she was smiling at him, winding her arms around his neck.

"Let's find out," he told her. "Later."

**Much** _later._

He carried her all the way home home, their voices, their laughter, and Vagrant all trailing in a happy wake behind them.

"So," said Seifer as they walked, his lips just inches from hers. "Have you given any thought lately to being captain of a highly respectable pirate ship?"


	71. Ending 1

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She grew up with a lot of other little children on an island far away in the ocean. One boy in particular tormented her relentlessly. He pulled her hair, and once, he even put frogs under her pillow. There were other children there, too, and they were like brothers and sisters from different families all jumbled together in one small stone cottage.

The little girl's foster mother used to read her and the other children a story every night before bed. One night, she read a story about a princess in a tower, and how, after many years of wishing for someone to come and rescue her, a prince appeared and took her away to live happily after.

The next day, the little girl wrote a letter to the white knight she imagined lived across the seas, asking him to come and rescue her and take her away. She rolled up the letter, tucked it into a bottle and sealed the cork with hot wax, then tossed it into the waves, watching as it disappeared, surely making its way to her knight in shining armor across the sea.

Days passed, and nothing happened. And so the little girl wrote another letter. And another. She wrote a letter a day for an entire year, using every manner of jam jar, soda bottle, and prescription bottle she could get her hands on, watching as they bobbed out to sea and vanished into the happily-ever-after place she imagined was just beyond the water.

But no answer ever came back.

And the little girl stopped writing letters.

And she stopped believing in fairy tales, and she was very sad for a very long time.

But the thing was, she never stopped wanting to believe.

And so, one day, the little girl, who had now grown up into a young woman, wrote another letter.

And this time, somebody answered.

And to her surprise, it was the little boy who had pulled her hair when they were children, that threw her books in the mud and put frogs under her pillow. It just so happened that this little boy, who, like the little girl, grew up, was her knight in shining armor all along, the one she had stopped believing in so long ago. He had finally gotten her message.

And he came and swept her off her feet- and they lived happily ever after."

"Tell it again, Momma," said a little voice, and Quistis looked down to see her son huddled against her side, his arm hooked with hers, his eyes as green and stormy as his father's. "But tell the one with everyone in it this time- you know, the one with Auntie Winoa and Uncle Zell and Uncle Wajin and Auntie Fujin and Uncle Irvy and everybody- the long one! And Vagwant, too!"

Vagrant, now slightly grey in the muzzle, thumped his tail hopefully against the mattress at the mention of his name.

"Ah, my favorite story," said Seifer, who had appeared in the doorway, his gaze warm and content and filled with the promise of 'later' as he leaned against the frame, his relaxed posture belying that he had been listening for some time. The little boy ran excitedly up to his father, throwing his arms around his neck as Seifer knelt over to scoop him up. Quistis could only smile as she looked up at the two people she loved most in the world.

His eyes met hers, and that day at the harbor might have been yesterday.

"Tell it again," he said.

And so she did, and long after their son had fallen asleep, back in their own bed, she whispered the story into his skin...she wrapped them up with it as he hovered over her between the sheets, his hand on her cheek...she whispered it into his ear as his heartbeat slowed back to normal beneath her hand and his fingers combed contentedly through her hair.

She could tell it forever.

_It was her favorite story, after all._


	72. Ending 2

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl. She grew up with a lot of other little children on an island far away in the ocean, and they were like brothers and sisters from different families all clustered together in a little house by the sea. One little boy in particular vexed the girl especially- he pulled her hair and put frogs under her pillow, and the two fought like cats and dogs more often than not.

But even though the little girl was surrounded every day by brothers and sisters and a little boy that drew mustaches on her dolls, she was still very lonely in a way she didn't understand.

The little girl's foster mother used to read her and the other children a story every night before bed. One night, she read a story about a princess in a tower, and told about how, after many years of wishing for someone to come and rescue her, a prince appeared and took the princess away to live happily after. When the little girl asked her foster mother if someday a prince might come and rescue her, too, her mother smiled and said that every princess had a prince, and that they would find each other sooner or later, if they kept looking.

The next day, the little girl wrote a letter to the white knight she imagined lived across the seas, asking him to come and rescue her and take her away. She rolled up the letter, tucked it into a bottle and sealed the cork with hot wax, then tossed it into the waves, watching as it disappeared, surely making its way to her knight in shining armor across the sea.

Days passed, and nothing happened. And so the little girl wrote another letter. And another. She wrote a letter a day for an entire year, using every manner of jam jar, soda bottle, and prescription bottle she could get her hands on, watching as they bobbed out to sea and vanished into the happily-ever-after place she imagined was just beyond the water.

But no answer ever came back.

And the little girl stopped writing letters.

And she stopped believing in fairy tales, and she was very sad.

But the thing was, she never stopped wanting to believe.

And so, one day, the little girl, who had now grown up into a young woman, wrote another letter.

And this time, somebody answered.

And to her surprise, it was the little boy who had pulled her hair when they were children, that threw her books in the mud and put frogs under her pillow. It just so happened that this little boy, who, like the little girl, had grown up, was her knight in shining armor all along, the one she had stopped believing in so long ago.

He had finally gotten her message.

And he came and swept her off her feet-"

"Off her feet, huh?" came a voice from beside her, and Quistis looked up to see Seifer's green gaze staring down at her as they leaned over the side of the ship, watching the waves. He picked her up and twirled her around. "Like this?"

"Something like that," she said, winding her arms around his neck once he set her down.

He kissed her, letting it linger before pulling back.

He was glad that the rest of the crew had gone to bed, save for Miggs, who had fallen asleep on watch duty in the crow's nest. He'd throw something at him, later, but for now, he wanted the world to include just the two of them.

Reaching out, Quistis knit their fingers together, leaning her shoulder into his as she looked back out to sea. It was a beautiful night. The sky above almost alive with light, and the ocean beneath, each wave capped with the milk pale light of the stars...as wild and as free as she felt in moments like these.

Seifer leaned close, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "Tell it again. And don't leave anything out."

And so she did, first, with her words, and much later, with her body, until the first rays of morning broke over the horizon and stretched their golden fingers onto the water.

The crew of the Siren was asleep, and so no one saw the green glass bottle bob quietly past the ship, clinking gently against the side like the touch of an old friend as they passed each other in the dawn.

A ghost of a smile flitted across Quistis's lips as she slept, turning in her sleep into the waiting arms of the man beside her.

_And they lived happily ever after._


End file.
